Title: Peggy Stewart at School
Author: Jackson, Gabrielle E. (Gabrielle Emilie), 1861-
Language: English
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PEGGY STEWART AT SCHOOL

by

GABRIELLE E. JACKSON

Author of "Peggy Stewart at Home," "Silver Heels,"
"Three Graces" Series, "Capt. Polly" Series, etc.



The Goldsmith Publishing Co.
New York N. Y.
Made in U.S.A.

Copyright, 1918 by Barse & Hopkins



CONTENTS

CHAPTER                                                PAGE

I.    THE BAROMETER FALLING                               1
II.   RECONSTRUCTION                                     16
III.  HOSTILITIES SUSPENDED                              32
IV.   HOSTILITIES RESUMED                                48
V.    RUCTIONS!                                          64
VI.   A NEW ORDER OF THINGS                              81
VII.  COLUMBIA HEIGHTS SCHOOL                            97
VIII. A RIDING LESSON                                   114
IX.   COMMON SENSE AND HORSE SENSE                      131
X.    TZARITZA AS DISCIPLINARIAN                        149
XI.   BEHIND SCENES                                     167
XII.  CHRISTMAS AT SEVERNDALE                           184
XIII. YULETIDE                                          202
XIV.  AT SEVERNDALE                                     221
XV.   IN SPRING TERM                                    239
XVI.  A MIDNIGHT SENSATION                              256
XVII. A SEND-OFF WITH FIREWORKS                         274



CHAPTER I

THE BAROMETER FALLING


The September morning was warmer and more enervating than September
mornings in Maryland usually are, though the month is generally conceded
to be a trying one. Even at beautiful Severndale where, if at any point
along the river, a refreshing breeze could almost always be counted
upon, the air seemed heavy and lifeless, as though the intense heat of
the summer had taken from it every particle of its revivifying
qualities.

In the pretty breakfast room the long French windows, giving upon the
broad piazza, stood wide open; the leaves upon the great beeches and
maples which graced the extensive lawn beyond, hung limp and motionless;
the sunlight even at that early hour beat scorchingly upon the dry
grass, for there had been little rain during August and the vegetation
had suffered severely; every growing thing was coated like a dusty
miller. But within doors all looked most inviting. The room was
scrupulous; its appointments indicated refined taste and constant care;
the breakfast table, laid for two, was dainty and faultless in its
appointments; our old friend, Jerome, moved about noiselessly, giving
last lingering touches, lest any trifle be omitted which might add to
the comfort and sense of harmony which seemed so much a part of his
young mistress's life. As he straightened a fruit knife here, or set
right a fold of the snowy breakfast cloth, he kept up a low-murmured
monologue after the manner of his race. Very little escaped old Jerome's
sharp eyes and keen ears, and within the past forty-eight hours they had
found plenty to see or hear, for a guest had come to Severndale. Yes, a
most unusual type of guest, too. As a rule Severndale's guests brought
unalloyed pleasure to its young hostess and her servants, or to her
sailor father if he happened to be enjoying one of his rare leaves, for
Captain Stewart had been on sea-duty for many successive years,
preferring it to land duty since his wife's death when Peggy, his only
child, was but six years of age. Severndale had held only sad memories
for him since that day, nearly ten years ago, in spite of the little
girl growing up there, cared for by the old housekeeper and the
servants, some of whom had been on the estate as long as Neil Stewart
could remember.

But nine years had slipped away since Peggy's mother's death, and the
little child had changed into a very lovely young girl, with whom the
father was in reality just becoming acquainted. He had spent more time
with her during the year just passed than he had ever spent in any one
of the preceding nine years, and those weeks had held many startling
revelations for him. When he left her to resume command of his ship, his
mind was in a more or less chaotic state trying to grasp an entirely new
order of things, for this time he was leaving behind him a young lady of
fifteen who, so it seemed to the perplexed man, had jumped over at least
five years as easily as an athlete springs across a hurdle, leaving the
little girl upon the other side forever. When Neil Stewart awakened to
this fact he was first dazed, and then overwhelmed by the sense of his
obligations overlooked for so long, and, being possessed of a lively
sense of duty, he strove to correct the oversight.

Had he not been in such deadly earnest his efforts to make reparation
for what he considered his inexcusable short-sightedness and neglect,
would have been funny, for, like most men when confronted by some
problem involving femininity, he was utterly at a loss how to set about
"his job" as he termed it.

As a matter of fact, a kind fate had taken "his job" in hand for him
some time before, and was in a fair way to turn out a pretty good one
too. But Neil Stewart made up his mind to boost Old Lady Fate along a
little, and his attempts at so doing came pretty near upsetting her
equilibrium; she was not inclined to be hustled, and Neil Stewart was
nothing if not a hustler, once he got under way.

And so, alack! by one little move he completely changed Peggy's future
and for a time rendered the present a veritable storm center, as will be
seen.

But we will let events tell their own story.

Old Jerome moved about the sunny breakfast-room; at least it would have
been sunny had not soft-tinted awnings and East-Indian screens, shut out
the sun's glare and suffused the room in a restful coolness and calm, in
marked contrast to the vivid light beyond the windows.

Jerome himself was refreshing to look upon. The old colored man was
quite seventy years of age, but still an erect and dignified major-domo.
From his white, wool-fringed old head, to the toes of his white canvas
shoes, he was immaculate. No linen could have been more faultlessly
laundered than Jerome's; no serviette more neatly folded. All was in
harmony excepting the old man's face; that was troubled. A perplexed
pucker contracted his forehead as he spoke softly to himself.

"'Taint going to do _no_ how! It sure ain't. She ain't got de right
bran', no she ain't, and yo' cyant mate up no common stock wid a
tho'oughbred and git any sort of a span. No siree, yo' cyant. My Lawd,
what done possess Massa Neil fer ter 'vite her down hyer? _She_ cyant
'struct an' guide _our_ yo'ng mist'ess. Sho! She ain' know de very fust
_rudimints_ ob de qualities' ways an' doin's. Miss Peggy could show her
mo' in five minutes dan she ever is know in five years. She ain't,--she
ain't,--well I ain't jist 'zackly know how I'se gwine speechify it, but
she ain't like _we_ all," and Jerome wagged his head in deprecation and
forced his tongue against his teeth in a sound indicating annoyance and
distaste, as he moved his mistress' chair a trifle.

Just then Mammy Lucy stuck her white-turbaned head in at the door to
ask:

"Whar dat chile at? Ain't she done come in fer her breckfus yit? It's
nine o'clock and Sis Cynthia's a-stewin' an' a steamin' like her own
taters."

"She say she wait fer her aunt, an' her aunt say she cyant breckfus
befo' half-pas' nine, no how," answered Jerome.

"Huh, huh! An' ma chile gotter wait a hull hour pas' her breckfus time
jist kase Madam Fussa-ma-fiddle ain't choose fer ter git up? I bait yo'
she git up when she ter home, and I bait yo' she ain't gitting somebody
ter dress her, an' wait on her han' an' foot like Mandy done been
a-doin' sense yistiddy; ner she ain' been keepin' better folks a-waiting
fer dey meals. I'se pintedly put out wid de way things is been gwine in
dis hyer 'stablishmint fer de past two days, an' 's fur 's _I_ kin see
dey ain' gwine mend none neider. No, not fer a considerbul spell lessen
we has one grand, hifalutin' tornader. Yo' hyar me!"

"I sho' does hyar yo' Mis' Lucy, an' I sho' 'grees wid yo' ter de very
top notch. Dere's gwine ter be de very dibble--'scuse me please, ma'am,
'scuse me, but ma feelin's done got de better of ma breedin'--ter pay ef
things go on as dey've begun since de Madam--_an' dat dawg_--invest
deyselves 'pon Severndale. But yonder comin' our yo'ng mistiss," he
concluded as a clear, sweet voice was heard singing just beyond the
windows, and quick decisive footsteps came across the broad piazza, and
Peggy Stewart, only daughter and heiress of beautiful "Severndale,"
entered the room. By her side Tzaritza, her snowy Russian wolfhound,
paced with stately mien; a thoroughbred pair indeed.

"Oh, Jerome, I am just starved. That breakfast table is irresistible.
Mammy, is Aunt Katherine ready?"

"I make haste fer ter inquire, baby," answered the old nurse, hurrying
from the room.

"I trus' she is," was Jerome's comment, adding: "Sis Cynthia done make
de sallylun jist ter de perfection pint, an' she know dat pint too."

Peggy made no comment upon the implied reproach of her guest's
tardiness, but crossing the room to a big chair, whither Tzaritza had
already preceded her to rub noses with a magnificent white Persian cat,
she stooped to stroke Sultana, who graciously condescended to purr and
nestle her beautiful head against Peggy's hand. Sultana had only been a
member of the Severndale household since July, Mr. Harold having sent
her to Peggy as "a semi-annual birthday gift," he said. She had adapted
herself to her new surroundings with unusual promptitude and been
adopted by the other four-footed members of the estate as "a friend and
equal." The trio formed a picturesque group as they stood there.

The dark-haired, dark-eyed young girl of fifteen, with her rich, clear
coloring, her cheeks softly tinted from her brisk walk in the morning
sunshine was very lovely. She wore a white duck skirt, a soft nainsook
blouse open at the throat, the sailor collar knotted with a red silk
scarf. Her heavy braids were coiled about her shapely head and held in
place with large shell pins, soft little locks curling about her
forehead.

The past year had wrought wonderful changes in Peggy Stewart. The little
girl had vanished forever, giving place to the charming young girl
nearing her sixteenth milestone. The contact with the outer world which
the past three months had given, when she had made so many new friends
and seen so much of the service and social world, had done a great deal
towards developing her. Always exceptionally well poised and sure of
herself, the summer at Navy Bungalow in New London, at Newport, Boston,
and at other points at which the summer practice Squadron had touched,
had broadened her outlook, and helped her gauge things from a different
and wider viewpoint than Severndale or Annapolis afforded. Though
entirely unaware of the fact, Peggy had few rivals in the world of young
girls.

Presently a step sounded upon the polished floor of the broad hall and
Mrs. Peyton Stewart, Peggy's aunt by marriage, stood in the doorway.
Under one arm she carried her French poodle. Stooping she placed it upon
the floor with the care which suggested a degree of fragility entirely
belied by the bad-tempered little beast's first move, for as Peggy
advanced with extended hand to greet her aunt, Toinette made a wild dash
for the Persian cat, which onset was met by one dignified slap of the
Sultana's paw, which left its red imprint upon the poodle's nose and
promptly toppled the pampered thing heels-over-head. Tzaritza stood
watching the entire procedure with dignified surprise, and when the
yelping little beast rolled to her feet, she calmly gathered her into
her huge jaws and stalking across the room held her up to Peggy, as
though asking:

"What shall I do with this bad-mannered bit of dogdom? Turn her over to
your discipline, or crush her with one snap of my jaws?"

"Oh you horrible, savage beast! You great brute! Drop her! Drop her!
Drop her instantly! My precious Toinette. My darling!" shrieked
Toinette's doting mistress. "Peggy, how _can_ you have such a savage
creature near you? She has crushed every bone in my pet's body. Go away!
Go away!"

The scorn in Tzaritza's eyes was almost human. With a low growl, she
dropped the thoroughly cowed poodle at Peggy's feet and then turned and
stalked from the room, the very picture of scornful dignity. Mrs.
Stewart snatched the poodle to her breast. There was not a scratch upon
it save the one inflicted by Sultana, and richly deserved, as the tuft
of the handsome cat's fur lying upon the floor testified.

"I hardly think you will find her injured, Aunt Katherine. Tzaritza
never harms any creature smaller than herself unless bidden to. She
brought Toinette here as much for the little dog's protection as for
Sultana's."

"Sultana's! As though she needed protection from _this_ fairy creature.
Horrible, vicious cat! Look at poor Toinette's nose."

"And at poor Sultana's fur," added Peggy, pointing to the tuft upon the
floor and slightly shrugging her shoulders.

"She deserved it for scratching Toinette's nose."

"I'm afraid the scratch was the second move in the onslaught."

"We will not argue the point, but in future keep that great hound
outside of the house, and the cat elsewhere than in the dining-room, I
beg of you--I can't have Toinette's life endangered, or my nerves
shocked in this manner again."

For a moment Peggy looked at her aunt in amazement. Keep Tzaritza out of
the house and relegate the Sultana to the servant's quarters? What had
become of the lady of smiles and compliments whom she had known at New
London, and who had been at such infinite pains to ingratiate herself
with Neil Stewart that she had been invited to spend September at
Severndale? And, little as Peggy suspected it, with the full
determination of spending the remainder of her days there could she
contrive to do so. Madam Stewart had blocked out her campaign most
completely, only "the best laid plans," etc., and Madam had quite
forgotten to take Mrs. Glenn Harold, Peggy's stanchest champion and
ally, into consideration. Mrs. Harold had been Peggy's "guide,
philosopher and friend" for one round year, and Mrs. Harold's niece,
Polly Howland, was Peggy's chum and crony.

Mrs. Stewart felt a peculiar sensation pass over her as she met the
girl's clear, steady gaze. Very much the sensation that one experiences
upon looking into a clear pool whose depth it is impossible to guess
from merely looking, though one feels instinctively that it is much
deeper, and may prove more dangerous than a casual glance would lead one
to believe. Peggy's reply was:

"Of course if you wish it, Aunt Katherine, Tzaritza shall not come into
the house during your visit here. I do not wish you to be annoyed, but
on the contrary, quite happy, and, Jerome, please see that Sultana is
taken to Mammy, and ask her to keep her in her quarters while Mrs.
Stewart remains at Severndale. Are you ready for your breakfast, Aunt
Katherine?"

"Quite ready," answered Mrs. Stewart, taking her seat at the table.
Peggy waited until she had settled herself with the injured poodle in
her lap, then took her own seat. Jerome had summoned one of the maids
and given Sultana into her charge, while Tzaritza was bidden "Guard"
upon the piazza. Never in all her royal life had Tzaritza been elsewhere
than upon the rug before the fireplace while her mistress' breakfast was
being served, and it seemed as though the splendid wolfhound, with a
pedigree unrivalled in the world, stood as the very incarnation of
outraged dignity, and a protest against insult. Perhaps some vague sense
of having overstepped the bounds of good judgment, if not good breeding,
was beginning to impress itself upon Mrs. Peyton Stewart. Certainly she
had not so thoroughly ingratiated herself in the favor of her niece, or
her niece's friends during that visit in New London the previous summer,
as to feel entirely sure of a cordial welcome at Severndale, and to make
a false start at the very outset of her carefully formed plans was a far
cry from diplomatic, to say the least. During those weeks at New
London, when a kind fate had brought her again in touch with her
brother-in-law after so many years, Mrs. Stewart had done a vast deal of
thinking and planning. There was beautiful Severndale without a mistress
excepting Peggy, a mere child, who, in Madam's estimation, did not
count. Neil Stewart was a widower in the very prime of life and, from
all Madam had observed, sorely in need of someone to look after him and
keep him from making some foolish marriage which might end in--well, in
_not_ keeping Severndale in the family; "the family" being strongly in
evidence in Mrs. Peyton. Her first step had been to secure an invitation
to visit there. That done, the next was to remain there indefinitely
once she arrived upon the scene. To do this she must make herself not
only desirable but indispensable.

Certainly, the preceding two days had not promised much for the
fulfillment of her plan. So being by no means a fool, but on the
contrary, a very clever woman in her own peculiar line of cleverness,
she at once set about dispelling the cloud which hung over the horizon,
congratulating herself that she had had sufficient experience to know
how to deal with a girl of Peggy's age. So to that end she now smiled
sweetly upon her niece and remarked:

"I am afraid, dear, I almost lost control of myself. I am so attached to
Toinette that I am quite overcome if any harm threatens her. You know
she has been my inseparable companion in my loneliness, and when one is
so utterly desolate as I have been for so many years even the devotion
of a dumb animal is valued. I have been very, very lonely since your
uncle's death, Peggy, dear, and you can hardly understand what a
paradise seems opening to me in this month to be spent with you. I know
we are going to be everything to each other, and I am sure I can relieve
you of a thousand burdens which must be a great tax upon a girl of your
years. I do not see _how_ you have carried them so wonderfully, or why
you are not old before your time. It has been most unnatural. But now we
must change all that. Young people were not born to assume heavy
responsibilities, whereas older ones accept them as a matter of course.
And that's just what _I_ have come way down here to try to do for my
sweet niece," ended Mrs. Stewart smiling with would-be fascinating
coyness. The smile would have been somewhat less complacent could she
have heard old Jerome's comment as he placed upon the pantry shelf the
fingerbowls which he had just removed from the table.

"Yas, yas, dat's it. Yo' needn't 'nounce it. We knows pintedly what yo's
aimin' ter do, an' may de Lawd have mussy 'pon us if yo' _suc_ceeds. But
dere's shorely gwine be ructions 'fore yo' does, er my name ain't Jerome
Randolph Lee Stewart."



CHAPTER II

RECONSTRUCTION


"I have to ride into Annapolis, this morning, Aunt Katherine. Would you
like to drive in?" asked Peggy, when the unpleasant breakfast was ended.

"I should be delighted to, dear," answered Mrs. Stewart sweetly,
striving to recover lost ground, for she felt that a good bit had been
lost. "At what time do you start?"

"Immediately. I will order the surrey."

She left the room, her aunt's eyes following her with a half-mystified,
half-baffled expression: Was the girl deeper than she had given her
credit for being? Had she miscalculated the depth of the pool after all?

All through the breakfast hour Peggy had been a sweet and gracious young
hostess, anticipating every want, looking to every detail of the
service, ordering with a degree of self-possession which secretly
astonished Mrs. Stewart, who felt that it would have been difficult for
her, even with her advantage of years, to have equaled the girl's
unassuming self-assurance and dignity, or have rivaled her perfect
ability to sit at the head of her father's table. A moment later Mrs.
Stewart went to her room to dress for the drive into town, her breakfast
toilet having been a most elaborate silk negligee. Twenty minutes later
the surrey stood at the door, but, contrary to Mrs. Stewart's
expectations, her niece was not in it: she was mounted upon her
beautiful black horse Shashai, at whose feet Tzaritza lay, her nose
between her paws, but her ears a-quiver for the very first note of the
low whistle which meant, "full speed ahead." On either side of Shashai,
a superb bodyguard, stood Silver Star, Polly Howland's saddle horse,
though he was still quartered at Severndale, and Roy, the colt that
Peggy had raised from tiny babyhood, and which had followed her as he
would have followed his dam, ever since the accident that had made him
an orphan.

Perhaps the reader of "Peggy Stewart" will recall Mrs. Stewart's horror
upon being met at the railway station by "the wild West show," as she
stigmatized her niece's riding and her horses, for rarely did Peggy
Stewart ride unless accompanied by her two beautiful horses and the
wolfhound, and her riding was a source of marvel to more than one, her
instructor having been Shelby, the veteran horse-trainer, who had been
employed at Severndale ever since Peggy could remember, and whose early
days had been spent upon a ranch in the far West where a man had to ride
anything which possessed locomotive powers. At the present moment a more
appreciative observer would have thrilled at the sight, for rarely is it
given to mortal eyes to look upon a prettier picture than Peggy Stewart
and her escort presented at that moment.

Given as a background a beautiful, carefully preserved estate, which for
generations has been the pride of its owners, a superb old mansion of
the most perfect colonial type, a sunny September morning, and as the
figures upon that background a charming young girl in a white linen
riding-skirt, her rich coloring at its best, her eyes shining, her seat
in her saddle so perfect that she seemed a part of her mount, and you
have something to look upon. To this add three thoroughbred horses and a
snowy dog, an old colored servitor, for Jerome had come out with a
message from Harrison, and it is a picture to be appreciated. Had the
tall woman standing upon the broad piazza been able to do so, many
things which happened later might never have happened at all.

Mrs. Stewart was elaborately gowned in a costume better suited for a
drive in Newport than Annapolis, especially Annapolis in September. It
was a striking creation of pale blue linen and Irish point lace, with a
large lace hat, heavy with nodding plumes and a voluminous white lace
veil floating out about it. She was a handsome woman in a certain
conspicuous way, and certainly knew how to purchase her apparel, though,
not above criticism in her selection of the toilet for the occasion, as
the present instance evinced. She now walked to the piazza steps, and
had anyone possessing a sense of humor been a witness of it, the
transformation which passed over the lady's face en transit would have
well nigh convulsed him, for the smile which had illumined her
countenance at the door had gradually faded as she advanced until, when
the steps were reached, it had been transformed into a most disapproving
frown.

To Peggy the reason was a mystery, for she had not overheard her aunt's
comments upon the occasion of the drive from the railway station three
days before. Of course Jess had, and they had been freely circulated and
keenly resented in the servants' quarters, but no whisper of them had
been carried to the young mistress. Nevertheless, Peggy was beginning to
discover that a good many of her actions, and also the order of things
at Severndale, had brought a cloud to her Aunt's brow, and a little
sigh escaped her lips as she wondered what the latest development would
prove. It seemed so easy for things to go amiss nowadays, when
heretofore nearly everything had seemed, as a matter of course, to go
right. Then the self-elected dictator spoke:

"Peggy, dear, are you not to drive with me?"

"Thank you, Aunt Katherine, but I always ride, and I have several
errands to do which I can better attend to if I am mounted."

"Well, it can hardly be necessary for you to have _three_ saddle horses
at once. It seems to me unnecessarily conspicuous, and in very bad taste
for a young girl to go tearing about the country, and especially into
Annapolis--the capital City of the State--in the guise of a traveling
circus."

A slight smile curved Peggy's lips as she answered:

"Annapolis is _not_ New York, Aunt Katherine. What might be out of place
in such a city would be regarded as a matter of course in a little town
where everybody knows everybody else, and they all know me, and the
Severndale horses. Nobody ever gives us a thought. Why should they? I'm
nothing but a girl riding into town on an errand."

"You are extremely modest, I must say. Is it quite native or well--we'll
dismiss the question, but I must ask you to do me the favor of leaving
your bodyguard behind today; it may not seem conspicuous for you to play
in a Wild West Show, but I must decline to be an actor. You are growing
too old for such mad pranks, and are far too handsome a girl to invite
observation."

Peggy turned crimson.

"Why, Aunt Katherine, I never regarded it as a prank in the least. I
have ridden this way all my life and no one has ever commented upon it.
Daddy Neil knows of it--he has ridden with me hundreds of times
himself--and never said one word against it. And you surely do not think
I do it to invite observation? Why, there isn't anything to _observe_. I
am certainly no better looking than hundreds of other girls; at least,
you are the only one who has ever commented upon my personal appearance.
But I beg your pardon; you are my guest. I am sorry. Bud, please call
Shelby to take Star and Roy back; I don't dare trust them to you."

The little negro boy who had brought Shashai to the doorstep, and who
had been staring popeyed during the conversation, dashed away toward the
paddock, to rush upon Shelby with a wild tale of "dat lady f'om de norf
was a-sassin' Missie Peggy jist scan'lous and orderin' Shelby fer to
come quick ter holp her."

"What you a-talking about, you little fool nigger?" demanded Shelby.
Then gathering that something was amiss with the little mistress whom
all upon the estate adored, he hastened to the house, his face somewhat
troubled, for hints of the doings up there had penetrated even to his
quarters.

"Shelby, please take Star and Roy back to the paddock and be sure to
fasten them in."

"Ain't they a-goin' with you, Miss Peggy?"

"Not this morning, Shelby."

The man looked from the girl to the lady now settling herself in the
carriage. Toinette still stood upon the piazza waiting to be lifted up
to her mistress, too fat and too foolish to even go down the steps
alone. As Shelby stepped toward the horses Mrs. Stewart waved her hand
toward the dog and said to him:

"Lift Toinette into the surrey."

Shelby paid no more attention to her than he paid to the quarreling jays
in the holly trees, and the order was sharply repeated.

"Oh, are you a-speakin' to me, ma'am?" he then said.

"Certainly. I wish my dog handed to me."

Shelby looked at the pampered poodle and then at its mistress. Then with
a guileless smile remarked:

"Now you don't sesso? Well, when I git back to the paddock with these
here horses what can't go 'long with Miss Peggy, I'll send a little
nigger boy up here for ter boost your dog up to you, but _I_ tend
_horses_ on this here place."

The man's dark skin grew several shades darker owing to the blood which
flooded his cheeks, and his eyes narrowed as he looked for one second
straight into Mrs. Stewart's. What possessed the woman to antagonize
everyone with whom she came in touch? Shelby had never laid eyes upon
her until that moment, but that moment had confirmed his dislike
conceived from the reports which had come to him. He now went up to the
horses. Knowing that neither of them had halters on, he had brought two
with him and now slipped them over his charges' heads, saying as he did
so:

"You've got to come 'long back with me and keep company manners, do you
know that, you disrepu'ble gad-abouts? You ain't never had no proper
eddicatin' an' now it's a-goin' to begin for fa'r. You-all are goin' ter
be larnt citified manners hot off the bat. So come 'long back to the
paddock an' git your fust lesson."

The horses toyed and played with him like a couple of children, but went
pacing away beside him, now and again pulling at his sleeve, poking at
him with their soft muzzles or mumbling at his cheeks with their velvety
lips, a pair of petted, peerless creatures and as beautiful as any God
had ever created. Now and again they stopped short to neigh a peremptory
call, as though asking the reason of this surprising conduct.

"Are you ready, Aunt Katherine?" asked Peggy.

"As soon as Jerome takes your hound in charge. I don't care to have
Toinette driven frantic with fear by the sight of her. She will grow so
excited that I shall be unable to hold her."

Now the past two hours had held a good many annoyances for Peggy Stewart
to whom annoyances had been almost unknown. Perhaps they constitute the
discipline of life, but thus far Peggy Stewart had apparently gotten on
pretty well without any radical chastening processes. Her life had been
simply, but well, ordered, and her naturally sunny soul had grown sweet
and wholesome in her little world. If correction had been necessary
Mammy's loving old heart had known how to order it during Peggy's
babyhood; Harrison had carefully watched her childhood, and her young
girlhood had been most beautifully developed by her guardian, good Dr.
Llewellyn, who loved her as a grand-daughter. Then had come Mrs. Harold,
who had done so much for the young girl. Why could it not have gone on?

Perhaps the ordering of Peggy's life had been too smooth to develop the
best in her character, so Kismet, or whatever it is which shapes the odd
happenings of our lives, had stepped in to lay a hurdle or two to test
her ability to meet obstacles. Since seven-thirty that morning she had
met little else in one form or another, and had taken them rather
gracefully, all things considered. Her breakfast had been delayed an
hour; the breakfast itself had been far from the pleasant meal it
usually proved; she had been needlessly criticised for her habit of
riding with her beloved horses; and now poor Tzaritza, after being
banished the house, was to be debarred from following her young
mistress; something unheard of, since the hound had acted as Peggy's
protectress ever since she could follow her. The blood flooded into the
girl's face, as turning to her Aunt she said very quietly, but with a
dignity which Mrs. Stewart dared not encroach upon:

"I am very sorry to seem in any way discourteous or disobliging, Aunt
Katherine, but Daddy Neil and Compadre, have always wished Tzaritza to
accompany me when I ride. I have never felt any fear but they feel
differently, as there are, of course, some undesirable characters
between Severndale and Annapolis, and they consider Tzaritza a great
protection against any possible annoyance. We will ride on ahead, since
it is likely to annoy you, but I must go into Annapolis this morning.
Another time I shall drive with you, but I can't ask you to drive where
I must ride today. When you see some of the Annapolitan streets you will
understand why. They have not been re paved since the first pavements
were laid generations ago, and you would be most uncomfortable. Be
careful where you drive, Jess. I will meet you at the Bank."

There was a graceful bow to Mrs. Stewart, a slight pressure of the knee
against Shashai, a low whistle to Tzaritza and she had whirled and was
away like the wind.

Madam Stewart drew a quick breath and compressed her thin lips until
they formed barely a line, and during that drive into Annapolis did some
rapid thinking. Evidently she had made another mistake.

As Peggy rode along the highway which led to Annapolis, the usual merry,
lilting songs, to which Shashai's hoofbeats kept time, were silenced,
and the girl rode in deep thought. Shashai tossed his head impatiently
as though trying to attract her attention, and now and again Tzaritza
bounded up to her with a deep, questioning bark. Peggy smiled a little
abstractedly and said:

"Your Missie is doing some hard thinking, my beauties and doesn't feel
songful this morning." Then after a moment she resumed:

"O Shashai, what _is_ the matter with everything? Am _I_ all wrong, or
is Aunt Katherine different from everybody else? I have never met anyone
just like her before, and I feel just exactly as though someone had
drawn a file across my teeth, and I dare say that's all wrong too. If
the Little Mother and Polly were only here they'd know how to make me
see things differently, but I seem to get in wrong at every turn. Aunt
Katherine has been here only two days, but what days they have been! And
ten times more to follow before the month ends!"

Shashai had gradually slowed down until he was walking with his own
inimitably dainty step, his hoofs falling upon the leaf-strewn road with
the lightness of a deer's. Presently they came to a pretty wood-road
leading almost at angles to the highway, but Peggy was again too
occupied to notice that Tzaritza had turned into it and that Shashai, as
a matter of course, had followed her. Annapolis could be reached by this
less frequented way but it made a wide detour, leading past Nelly
Bolivar's home. As they struck the refreshing coolness of the byway
Shashai broke into what Peggy called his "rocking-chair gait," though
she was so much a part of him that she was hardly aware of the more
rapid motion. Her first clear intimation that her route had changed
occurred when a cheerful voice called out:

"And she wandered away and away into the land o' dreams, my princess."

Peggy raised her head quickly and the old light flashed back into her
eyes, the old smile curved her lips as she cried:

"Why, Nelly Bolivar! How under the sun came I here?"

"In the usual way, I reckon, Miss Peggy. I don't often see you come in
any other. But this time you sure enough look as though you had been
dreaming," laughed Nelly, coming close to Shashai, who instantly
remembered his manners and neighed his greeting, while Tzaritza thrust
her head into the girl's arms with the gentlest insinuation. Nelly held
the big head close, rested her face against it a second, then took
Shashai's soft muzzle in both hands and planted a kiss just where it was
most velvety, saying softly:

"I can't imagine you three separated. The picture would not be complete.
But what is wrong, Miss Peggy? You look so sober you make me feel
queer," for the smile had gone from the girl's face and Nelly was quick
to feel the seriousness of her expression.

"Perhaps I'm cross and cranky, Nelly. At any rate I've no business to be
here this minute. I started for Annapolis, but my wits got
wool-gathering, I reckon, and I let Shashai turn in here without
noticing where he was going. Aunt Katherine will reach Annapolis before
I do and--then--" and Peggy stopped and wagged her head as though
pursuit of the subject would better be dropped. Nelly's face clouded. It
had not required the two days of Mrs. Stewart's visit to circulate a
good many reports concerning her. Indeed both Jerome and old Mammy had
described her at length, and the description had lost nothing upon their
African tongues, nor had the experiences of the three months spent up
north: Madam Stewart had figured rather conspicuously in their pictures
of the "doin's up yander." Had she suspected how accurately the old
colored people had gauged her, or how great an influence their gauging
was likely to have upon the plans she had so carefully laid, she might
have been a little more circumspect in her conduct toward them. But to
her they were "just black servants" and she was entirely incapable of
weighing their influence in the domestic economy, or of understanding
their shrewd judgment as to the best interests of the young girl whom
each, in common with all the other old servants upon the estate, loved
with a devotion absolutely incomprehensible to most northern-born
people. And another potent fact, entirely absent from the
characteristics of the northern negro, is the fact that the southern
negro servants' "kinnery" instantly adopts and maintains the viewpoint
of those "nearest the throne." It is a survival of the old feudal
system, unknown in the cosmopolitan North, but which even in this day,
so remote from the days of slavery, makes itself very distinctly felt in
many parts of the South.

And many of the servants upon the Severndale estate had been there for
three generations. Hence Peggy was their "chile," and her joys or
sorrows, happiness or unhappiness, were theirs, and all their kin's, to
be talked over, remedied if possible, but shared if not, or made a part
of their own delight in living, as the case might demand. And the
ramifications of their kinship were amazing. No wonder the report that
"an aunt-in-law ob de yo'ng mistress yonder at Severndale, had done come
down an' ondertuck fer ter run de hull shebang _an'_ Miss Peggy inter de
bargain, what is never been run by nobody," had circulated throughout
the whole community, and met with a resolute, though carefully concealed
opposition--subtle, intangible, but sure to prove overwhelming in the
end--the undertow, so hidden but so irresistible. All this had stolen
from one pair of lips to another and, of course, been related with
indignant emphasis to Jim Bolivar, Nelly's father, one of the tenants of
Severndale's large estate. And he, in turn, had discussed it with Nelly,
who worshipped the very ground Peggy chose to stand upon, for to Peggy
Stewart Nelly owed restored health, her home rescued when ruin seemed
about to claim everything her father owned, and all the happiness which
had come into her lonely life.

No wonder she now looked up to the deep brown eyes with her own blue
ones troubled and distressed.



CHAPTER III

HOSTILITIES SUSPENDED


During her drive into Annapolis Madam Stewart did more deep thinking
than it was generally given to her shallow brain to compass. Like most
of her type, she possessed a certain shrewdness, which closely touched
upon cunning when she wished to gain her ends, but she had very little
real cleverness, and practically no power of logical deduction.

Today, however, she had felt antagonism enveloping her as a fog, and
would have been not a little surprised to realize that its most potent
force lay in Peggy's humble servitors rather than in Peggy herself. From
the old darkey driving her, so deferentially replying to her questions,
and at such pains to point out everything of interest along the way, she
felt it radiate with almost tangible scorn and hostility, and yet to
have saved her life she could not have said: "He is remiss in this or
that."

They drove into Annapolis by the bridge which crosses the Severn just
above the Naval Hospital, and from which the whole Academy is seen at
its best, with the wide sweep of the beautiful Chesapeake beyond. Jess
pointed out everything most carefully. Then on they went across College
Creek bridge, up College Avenue, by historic old St. Ann's and drew up
at the Bank to meet Peggy. Mrs. Stewart looked about her in undisguised
disappointment and asked:

"Is _this_ the capital city of the State of Maryland? _This_ little
town?"

Jess' mouth hardened. He loved the quaint old town and all its
traditions. So did his young mistress. It had always meant home to her,
and to many, many generations of her family before her. The old "Peggy
Stewart" house famous in history, though no longer occupied by her own
family, still stood, a landmark, in the heart of the town and was
pointed to with pride by all.

"Dis sho' is de capital city ob de State, Ma'am. Yonder de guv'nor's
mansion, jist over dar stan' de co't house, an' yonder de Cap'tal an'
all de yether 'ministrashum buildin's, an' we'all's powerful proud ob
'em."

Mrs. Stewart smiled a superior smile as she replied:

"I have heard that the South is not progressive and is perfectly
apathetic to conditions. It _must_ be. Heavens! Look at these streets!
They are perfectly disgusting, and the odor is horrible. I shall be
glad to drive home."

"De town done been pave all mos' all new," bridled Jess. "Dis hyar
pavement de bes' ob brick. Miss Peggy done tole me ter be keerful whar I
drive yo' at, an' I tecken yo' on de very be's."

"And what, may I inquire, is your very worst then? Have you no street
cleaning department in your illustrious city?"

"We suttenly _has_! Dey got six men a-sweeping de hull endurin' time."

"What an overwhelming force!" and Mrs. Stewart gave way to mirth.

It was fortunate that Peggy should have arrived at that opportune
moment, for there is no telling what might have occurred: Jess's
patience was at the snapping-point. But Peggy's talk with Nelly Bolivar
had served to restore her mental equilibrium to a certain degree--and
her swift ride into Annapolis had completed the process. It was a sunny,
smiling face which drew up to the surrey and greeted Mrs. Stewart. Peggy
had made up her mind that she would not let little things annoy her, and
was already reproaching herself for having done so. She had resolved to
keep her temper during her aunt's visit if a whole legion of tormenting
imps were let loose upon her.

Three weeks of Mrs. Stewart's visit passed. Upon her part, three weeks
of striving to establish a firmer foothold in the home of her
brother-in-law; to obtain the place in it she so ardently coveted--that
of mistress and absolute dictator. But each day proved to her that she
was striving against some vaguely comprehended opposition. It did not
lie in Peggy, that she had the grace to concede, for Peggy had complied
with every wish, which she had graciously or otherwise, expressed,
except the one debarring Tzaritza from following Shashai when she rode
abroad, and be it said to Peggy's credit that she had held to her
resolution in spite of endless aggravations, for Madam was a past
mistress of criticism either spoken or implied. Never before in all her
sunny young life had Peggy been forced to live in such an atmosphere.

Little by little during those weeks Mrs. Stewart had pre-empted Peggy's
position as mistress of the household; a position held by every claim of
right, justice and natural development, for Peggy had grown into it, and
its honors and privileges rested upon her young shoulders by right of
inheritance. She had not rushed there, or forced her claim to it, hence
had it been gradually given into her hands by old Mammy, her nurse,
Harrison, the trusty housekeeper, and at length, as she had more and
more clearly demonstrated her ability to hold it, by Dr. Llewellyn, her
guardian, who regarded it as an essential part of a Southern
gentlewoman's education.

Then had come Mrs. Harold, whose tact and affection seemed to supply
just the little touch which the young girl required to round out her
life, and fit her to ultimately assume the entire control of her
father's home.

But all this was entirely beyond Mrs. Stewart's comprehension. Her own
early life had been passed in a small New Jersey village in very humble
surroundings. She had been educated in the little grammar school, going
later to an adjoining town for a year at high-school. In her home,
domestic help of any sort had been unknown, she and her mother, an
earnest, hard-working woman, having performed all the household work.
There were no traditions connected with that simple home; it was just an
everyday round of commonplace duties, accepted as a matter of course.
Then Mrs. Stewart, at that time "pretty Kitty Snyder," went as a sort of
"mother's helper" to a lady residing in Elizabeth, whose brother was in
a New Jersey College. Upon one of his visits to his sister he had
brought Peyton Stewart home for a visit: Peyton, the happy-go-lucky,
irresponsible madcap. Kitty Snyder's buxom beauty had turned all that
was left to be turned of his shallow head and she had become Mrs. Peyton
Stewart within a month.

The rest has been told elsewhere. For a good many years she had "just
lived around" as she expressed it, her income from her husband's share
of the very comfortable little fortune left him by his father, being a
vast deal more than she had ever dreamed of in her youthful days. She
felt very affluent. All things considered, it was quite as well that
Peyton had quit this earthly scene after two years of married life for
"Kitty" had rapidly developed extravagant tastes and there were many
"scenes." Her old associates saw her no more, and later the new ones
often wondered why the dashing young widow did not marry again.

They did not suspect how often her plans laid to that end had
misscarried, for her ambitions were entirely out of proportion to her
qualifications.

Now, however, chance had brought her once more in touch with her
husband's family, and she was resolved to make hay while the sun shone.
If Neil Stewart had not been an odd mixture of manly strength and
child-like simplicity, exceptional executive ability and credulity,
kindliness and quick temper, he would never in the wide world have
become responsible for the state of affairs at present turning his old
home topsy-turvy, and in a fair way to undo all the good works of
others, and certainly make Peggy extremely unhappy.

But he had "made a confounded mess of the whole job," he decided upon
receiving a letter from Peggy. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say
upon reading between the lines, because it was not so much what Peggy
had _said_ as that which she left unsaid, which puzzled him, and to
which puzzle Harrison supplied the key in her funny monthly report.
Never in all the ten years of her stewardship had she failed to send her
monthly letter.

Harrison was a most conscientious old body if somewhat below par in
educational advantages. Nevertheless, she had filled her position as
nurse, maid and housekeeper to Peggy's mother for over thirty years,
and to Peggy for ten more and her idea of duty was "Peggy first, Martha
Harrison second." Her letter to Neil Stewart, which he read while his
ship was being overhauled in the Boston Navy Yard, set him thinking. It
ran:

     Severndale, Maryland.
     September 21, 19--

     Captain Neil Stewart,
     U. S. N.

     Respected Sir:--

     As has been my habit these many years, I take my pen in hand to
     make my monthly report concerning the happenings and the events of
     the past month. Most times there isn't many of either outside the
     regular accounts which, praises be, ain't never got snarled up none
     since I've had the handling of them.

     As to the past three weeks considerable has took place in this
     quiet, peaceful (most times, at least) home, and I ain't quite sure
     where I stand at, or am likely to. Things seem sort of stirred
     round. Like enough we-all are old-fashioned and considerable sot in
     our ways and can't rightly get used to new-fangled ones. Then, too,
     we--I speak for everybody--find it kinder hard to take our orders
     from anybody but Miss Peggy, who has got the right to give them,
     which we can't just see that anybody else _has got_. Howsoever,
     some folks seem to think they have, and what I am trying to get at
     is, _have they_? If I have got to take them from other folks, why,
     of course I have got to, but it has got to be _you_ that tells me I
     must.

     Up to the present time I seem to have been pretty capable of
     running things down here, though I am free to confess I was right
     glad when Mrs. Harold come along as she done, to give me a hint or
     two where Miss Peggy was concerned, for that child had taken to
     growing up in a way that was fair taking the breath out of my body,
     and was a-getting clear beyond _me_ though, praises be, she didn't
     suspicion the fact. If she had a-done it _my_ time would a-come for
     sure. But the good Lord sent Mrs. Harold to us long about that time
     and she was a powerful help and comfort to us all. _He_ don't make
     no mistakes as a rule and I reckon we would a done well to let well
     enough alone and not go trying to improve on his plans for us. When
     we do that the _other one_ is just as likely as not for to take a
     hand in the job and if he ain't a-kinder stirring round on these
     premises right this very minute I'm missing my guess and sooner or
     later there is going to be ructions.

     Cording to the way _we_-all think down here Miss Peggy's mighty
     close to the angels, but maybe we are blinded by the light o'love,
     so to speak. Howsoever and nevertheless, we have got along pretty
     comfortable till _lately_ when we have begun to discover that our
     educasyons has been terribl neglected and we have all got to be
     took in hand. _And we are being took powerful strong, let me tell
     you!_ It is some like a Spanish fly blister: It may do good in the
     end but the means thereto is some harrowing to the flesh and the
     spirit.

     I don't suppose there is no hope of your a-visiting your home
     before the ship is ordered South for the fall target practice, more
     is the pity. Tain't for me to name nothing but I wish to the Lord
     Mrs. Harold was here. SHE is a lady--Amen.

                                Your most humble and obedient housekeeper,
                                        Martha Harrison.

The day after this letter was written Dr. Llewellyn 'phoned to Peggy
that he would return at the end of the week and if quite agreeable would
like to pass a few days at Severndale with her, as his own housekeeper
had not yet returned from her holiday.

Peggy was in an ecstasy of joy. To have Compadre under her own roof from
Saturday to Monday would be too delightful. Brimful of her pleasurable
anticipations, and more like the natural, joyous girl of former days
than she had been since leaving Mrs. Harold and Polly, she flew to the
piazza where her aunt, arrayed in a filmy lingerie gown, reclined in one
of the big East India chairs. For a moment she forgot that she did not
hold her aunt's sympathies as she held Mrs. Harold's, and cried:

"Oh, Aunt Katherine, Compadre will be here on Friday evening and will
remain until Monday! Isn't that too good to believe?"

"Do you mean Dr. Llewellyn?" asked Mrs. Stewart, coldly.

"Yes, Aunt Katherine, you had no chance to know him before he went away,
but you will just love him."

"Shall I?" asked Mrs. Stewart with a smile which acted like a wet
blanket upon poor Peggy.

"But why do you call him by that absurd name? Why not call him Dr.
Llewellyn?"

"Call him Dr. Llewellyn?" echoed Peggy. "Why, I have never called him
anything else since he taught me to call him by that dear name when I
was a wee little thing."

"And do you expect to cling to childish habits all your days, Peggy
dear? Isn't it about time you began to think about growing up? Sit here
upon this cushion beside me. I wish to have a serious talk with you and
this seems a most opportune moment. I have felt the necessity of it ever
since my arrival, but have refrained from speaking because I feared I
might be misjudged and do harm rather than good. Sit down, dear."

Mrs. Stewart strove to bring into her voice an element of deep interest,
affection was beyond her,--and Peggy was sufficiently intuitive to feel
it. Nevertheless, if anything could have appealed to this self-centered
woman's affection it ought surely to have been the young girl who
obediently dropped upon the big Turkish cushion, and clasping her hands
upon the broad arm of the chair, looked up into the steely, calculating
eyes with a pair so soft, so brown, so trustful yet so perplexed, that
an ordinary woman would have gathered her right into her arms and
claimed all the richness and loyalty of affection so eager to find an
outlet. If it could only have been Mrs. Harold, or Polly's mother, how
quick either would have been to comprehend the loving nature of the girl
and reap the reward of it.

Mrs. Stewart merely smiled into the wild-rose face in a way which she
fondly believed to accentuate her own charms, and tapping the pretty
brown hands with her fan, said:

"I am growing extremely proud of my lovely niece. She is going to be a
great credit to me, and, also, I foresee, a great responsibility."

"A responsibility, Aunt Katherine?" asked Peggy, a perplexed pucker upon
her forehead. "Have I been a responsibility to you since you came here?
I am sorry if I have. Of course I know my life down here in the old home
is quite different from most girls' lives. I didn't realize that until I
met Mrs. Harold and Polly and then, later, went up to New London and saw
more of other girls and the way they live. But I have been very happy
here, Aunt Katherine, and since I have known Mrs. Harold and Polly a
good many things have been made pleasanter for me. I can never repay
them for their kindness to me."

Peggy paused and a wonderfully sweet light filled her eyes, for her love
for her absent friends was very true and deep, and speaking of them
seemed to bring them back to the familiar surroundings which she knew
they had grown to love so well, and where she and Polly had passed so
many happy hours.

Mrs. Stewart was not noted for her capacity for deep feeling and was
more amused than otherwise affected by Peggy's earnest speech,
classifying it as "a girl's sentimentality." Finer qualities were wasted
upon that lady. So she now smiled indulgently and said:

"Of course I can understand your appreciation of what you consider Mrs.
Harold's and her niece's kindness to you, but, have you ever looked upon
the other side of the question? Have you not done a great deal for them?
It seems to me you have quite cancelled any obligation to them. It must
have been some advantage to them to have such a lovely place as this to
visit at will, and, if I can draw deductions correctly, to practically
have the run of. It seems to me there was considerable advantage upon
_their_ side of the arrangement. You, naturally, can not see this, but
I'll venture to say Mrs. Harold was not so unsophisticated," and a pat
upon Peggy's hand playfully emphasized the lady's charitable view.

Peggy felt bewildered and her hands fell from the arm of the chair to
her lap, though her big soft eyes never changed their gaze, which proved
somewhat disconcerting to the older woman who had the grace to color
slightly. Peggy then rallied her forces and answered:

"Aunt Katherine, I am sure neither Mrs. Harold nor Polly ever had the
faintest idea of any advantage to themselves in being nice to me. Why in
this world should they? They have ten times more than _I_ could ever
give to them. Why think of how extensively Mrs. Harold has traveled and
what hosts of friends she has! And Polly too. Goodness, they let me see
and enjoy a hundred things I never could have seen or enjoyed
otherwise."

Mrs. Stewart laughed a low, incredulous laugh, then queried:

"And you the daughter of Neil Stewart and a little Navy girl? Really,
Peggy, you are deliciously _ingenue_. Well, never mind. It is of more
intimate matters I wish to speak, for with each passing day I recognize
the importance of a radical reconstruction in your mode of living. That
is what I meant when I said I foresaw greater responsibilities ahead.
You are no longer a child, Peggy, to run wild over the estate,
but--well, I must not make you vain. In a year or two at most, you will
make your _début_ and someone must provide against that day and be
prepared to fill properly the position of chaperone to you. Meantime,
you must have proper training and as near as I can ascertain you have
never had the slightest. But it can not be deferred a moment longer. It
is absolutely providential that I, the only relative you have in this
world, should have met you as I did, though I can hardly understand how
your father overlooked the need so long. Perhaps it was from motives of
unselfishness, though he must have known that I stood ready to make any
sacrifice for my dear dead Peyton's brother." Just here Mrs. Peyton's
feelings almost overcame her and a delicate handkerchief was pressed to
her eyes for a moment.

Ordinarily tender and sympathetic to the last degree, Peggy could not
account for her strange indifference to her aunt's distress. She simply
sat with hands clasped about her knees and waited for her to resume the
conversation. Presently Madam emerged from her temporary eclipse and
said:

"Forgive me, dear, my feelings quite overcame me for a moment. To
resume: I know dear Neil would never ask it of me, but I have been
thinking very seriously upon the subject and have decided to forget
self, and my many interests in New York, and devote my time to you. I
shall remain with you and relieve you of all responsibility in this
great household, a responsibility out of all proportion to your years.
Indeed, I can not understand how you have retained one spark of girlish
spontaneity under such unnatural conditions. Such cares were meant for
older, more experienced heads than your pretty one, dear. It will be a
joy to me to relieve you of them and I can not begin too soon. We will
start at once. I shall write to your father to count upon me for
everything and, if he feels so disposed, to place everything in my
hands. Furthermore, I shall suggest that he send you to a fine school
where you will have the finishing your birth and fortune entitle you to.
You know absolutely nothing of association, with other girls,--no,
please let me finish," as Peggy rose to her feet and stood regarding her
aunt with undisguised consternation, "I know of a most excellent school
in New York, indeed, it is conducted by a very dear friend of mine,
where you would meet only girls of the wealthiest families" (Mrs.
Stewart did not add that the majority had little beside their wealth to
stand as a bulwark for them; they were the daughters of New York City's
newly rich whose ancestry would hardly court inspection) "and even
during your school days you would get a taste of New York's social
advantages; a thing utterly impossible in this dull--ahem!--this remote
place. I shall strongly advise dear Neal to consider this. You simply
cannot remain buried here. _I shall_, of course, since I feel it my duty
to do so, but I can have someone pass the winter with me, and can make
frequent trips to Washington."

Mrs. Stewart paused for breath. Peggy did not speak one word, but with a
final dazed look at her aunt, turned and entered the house.



CHAPTER IV

HOSTILITIES RESUMED


As Peggy left the piazza her aunt's eyes followed her with an expression
which held little promise for the girl's future happiness should it be
given into Mrs. Stewart's keeping. A more calculating, triumphant one,
or one more devoid of any vestige of affection for Peggy it would have
been hard to picture. As her niece disappeared Mrs. Stewart's lips
formed just two words, "little fool," but never had she so utterly
miscalculated. She was sadly lacking in a discrimination of values.
Peggy had chosen one of two evils; that of losing her temper and saying
something which would have outraged her conception of the obligations of
a hostess, or of getting away by herself without a moment's delay. She
felt as though she were strangling, or that some horrible calamity
threatened her. Hurrying to her own room she flung herself upon her
couch and did that which Peggy Stewart was rarely known to do: buried
her head in the cushions and sobbed. Not the sobs of a thwarted, peevish
girl, but the deeper grief of one who feels hopeless, lonely and
wretched. Never in her life had she felt like this. What was the meaning
of it?

Those who were older and more experienced, would have answered at once:
Here is a girl, not yet sixteen years of age, who has led a lonely life
upon a great estate, remote from companions of her own age, though
adored by the servants who have been upon it as long as she can
remember. She has been regarded as their mistress whose word must be law
because her mother's was. Her education has been conducted along those
lines by an old gentleman who believes that the southern gentlewoman
must be the absolute head of her home.

About this time there enters her little world a woman whose every
impulse stands for motherhood at its sweetest and best, and who has
helped all that is best and truest in the young girl to develop, guiding
her by the beautiful power of affection. All has been peace and harmony,
and Peggy is rapidly qualifying in ability to assume absolute control in
her father's home.

Then, with scarcely a moment's warning, there is dropped into her home
and daily life a person with whom she cannot have anything in common,
from whom she intuitively shrinks and cannot trust.

Under such circumstances the present climax is not surprising.

Peggy's whole life had in some respects been a contradiction and a cry
for a girl's natural heritage--a mother's all-comprehending love. The
love that does not wait to be told of the loved one's needs and
happiness, but which lives only to foresee what is best for her and to
bring it to pass, never mind at what sacrifice to self. Peggy had missed
_that_ love in her life and not all the other forms combined had
compensated.

Until the previous year she had never felt this; nor could she have put
it into words even at the present moment. She only knew that in Polly's
companionship she had been very, very happy and that she was terribly
lonely without her. That in Mrs. Harold she had found a friend whom she
had learned to love devotedly and trust implicitly, and that in the
brief time Mrs. Howland, Polly's mother, had been in Annapolis and at
New London, she had caught a glimpse of a little world before undreamed
of; a world peculiarly Polly's and her mother's and which no other human
being invaded. Mrs. Howland had just such a little world for each of her
daughters and for the son-in-law whom she loved so tenderly. It was a
world sacred to the individual who dwelt therein with her. There was a
common world in which all met in mutual interests, but she possessed the
peculiar power of holding for each of her children their own "inner
shrine" which was truly "The Holy of Holies."

Although Peggy had known and loved Mrs. Harold longest, there was
something in Mrs. Howland's gentle unobtrusive sweetness, in her hidden
strength, which drew Peggy as a magnet and for the first time in her
life she longed for the one thing denied her: such a love as Polly
claimed.

But it seemed an impossibility, and her nearest approach to it lay in
Mrs. Harold's affection for her.

Peggy was not ungrateful, but what had befallen the usual order of
things? Was this aunt, with whom, try as she would, she could not feel
anything in common, about to establish herself in the home, every turn
and corner of which was so dear to her, and utterly disrupt it? For this
Peggy felt pretty sure she would do if left a free hand. Already she had
most of the old servants in a state of ferment, if not open hostility.
They plainly regarded her as an interloper, resented her assumption of
rule and her interference in the innumerable little details of the
household economy. Her very evident lack of the qualities which,
according to their standards, stood for "de true an' endurin' quality
raisin'," made them distrust her.

Now the "time was certainly out of joint" and poor little Peggy began to
wonder if she had to complete the quotation.

All that has been written had passed like a whirlwind through Peggy's
harassed brain in much less time than it has taken to put it on paper.
It was all a jumble to poor Peggy; vague, yet very real; understood yet
baffling. The only real evidences of her unhappiness and doubt were the
tears and sobs, and these soon called, by some telepathic message of
love and a life's devotion, the faithful old nurse who had been the
comforter of her childish woes. For days Mammy had been "as res'less an'
onsettled as a yo'ng tuckey long 'bout Thanksgivin' time," as she
expressed it, and had found it difficult to settle down to her ordinary
routine of work during the preceding two weeks. She prowled about the
house and the premises "fer all de 'roun worl' like yo' huntin'
speerits," declared Aunt Cynthia, the cook.

"Huh!" retorted Mammy, "I on'y wisht I could feel dat dey was frien'ly
ones, but I has a percolation dat dey's comin' from _below_ stidder
_above_."

So perhaps this explains why she went up to Peggy's room at an hour
which she usually spent in her own quarters mending. Long before she
reached the room she became aware of sounds which acted upon her as a
spark to a powder magazine, for Mammy's loving old ears lay very close
to her heart.

With a pious "Ma Lawd-God-Amighty, what done happen?" she flew down the
broad hall and, being a privileged character, entered the room without
knocking. The next second she was holding Peggy in her arms and almost
sobbing herself as she besought her to tell "who done hurt ma baby? Tell
Mammy what brecken' yo' heart, honey-chile."

For a few moments Peggy could not reply, and Mammy was upon the point of
rushing off for Harrison when Peggy laid a detaining hand upon her and
commanded:

"Stop, Mammy! You must not call Harrison or anyone else. There is really
nothing the matter. I'm just a silly girl to act like this and I'm
thoroughly ashamed of myself." Then she wiped her eyes and strove to
check a rebellious sob.

"Quit triflin'! Kingdom-come, is yo' think I'se come ter ma dotage? When
is I see you a cryin' like dis befo'? Not sense yo' was kitin' roun' de
lot an' fall down an' crack yo' haid. Yo' ain' been de yellin',
squallin' kind, an' when yo' begins at dis hyar day an' age fer ter
shed tears dar's somethin' pintedly wrong, an' yo' needn' tell me dar
ain't. Now out wid it."

Mammy was usually fiercest when she felt most deeply and now she was
stirred to the very depth of her soul.

"Why, Mammy, I don't believe I could tell you what I'm crying for if I
tried," and Peggy smiled as she rested her head upon the shoulder which
had never failed her.

"Well, den, tell me what yo' _ain't_ cryin' fo', kase ef yo' ain't
cryin' fer somethin' yo' _want_ yo' shore mus' be a-crying fo' somethin'
yo' _don't_ want," was Mammy's bewildering argument. "An' I bait yo' I
ain't gotter go far fer ter ketch de thing yo' _don'_ want neither," and
the old woman looked ready to deal with that same cause once it came
within her grasp.

Peggy straightened up. This order of things would never do. If she acted
like a spoiled child simply because someone to whom she had taken an
instinctive dislike had come into her home, she would presently have the
whole household demoralized.

"Mammy, listen to me."

Instinctively the blood of generations of servitude responded to Peggy's
tone.

"I have been terribly rude to a guest. I lost my temper and I'm ashamed
of myself."

"What did you say to her, baby?"

"I didn't say anything, I just acted outrageously."

"An' what _she_ been a-sayin' ter yo'?"

Peggy only colored.

Mammy nodded her bead significantly. "Ain't I _know_ dat! Yo' cyant tell
_me_ nothin' 'bout de Stewart blood. No-siree! I know it from Alphy to
Omegy; backards an' forrards. Now we-all kin look out fer trouble ahead.
But I'se got dis fer ter say: Some fools jist nachelly go a-prancin' an'
a-cavortin' inter places whar de angils outen heaven dassent no mo'n
peek. If yo' tells me I must keep ma mouf shet, I'se gotter keep it
shet, but Massa Neil is allers a projectin' 'bout ma safety-valve, an'
don' yo' tie it down too tight, honey, er somethin' gwine bus' wide open
'fore long. Now come 'long an' wash yo' purty face. I ain' like fer ter
see no tears-stains on _yo'_ baby. No, I don'. Den yo' go git on Shashai
an' call yo' body-gyard and 'Z'ritza an' yo' ride ten good miles fo' yo'
come back hyer. By _dat_ time yo' git yo' min' settle down an' yo'
stummic ready fo' de lunch wha' Sis' Cynthia gwine fix fo' yo'. I seen
de perjections ob it an' it fair mak' ma mouf run water lak' a dawg's.
Run 'long, honey," and Mammy led the way down the side stairs, and
watched Peggy as she took a side path to the paddock.

As she was in and out of her saddle a dozen times a day she wore a
divided skirt more than half the time--another of Mrs. Stewart's
grievances--and upon reaching the paddock her whistle soon brought her
pets tearing across it to her. Their greeting was warm enough to banish
a legion of blue imps, and a joyous little laugh bubbled to her lips as
she opened the paddock gate and let the trio file through. Then in the
old way she sprang upon Shashai's back and with a gay laugh cried:

"Four bells for the harness house."

Away they swept, as Peggy's voice and knees directed Shashai, Tzaritza,
who had joined Peggy as she stepped from the side porch, bounding on
ahead with joyous barks.

Peggy called for a bridle, which Shelby himself brought, saying as he
slipped the light snaffle into Shashai's sensitive mouth and the
headstall over his ears:

"So you've bruck trainin', Miss Peggy, an' are a-going for a real
old-time warm-up? Well, I reckon it's about time, an' the best thing you
can do, for you look sort o' pinin' an' down-in-the-mouth. Light out,
little girl, an' come back lookin' like you uster; the purtiest sight
God ever created for a man, woman or child ter clap eyes on. Take good
care of her, Shashai, and you too, Tzaritza, cause you won't get
another like her very soon."

Shelby's eyes were quick to discern the traces of Peggy's little storm,
and he was by no means slow in drawing deductions. Peggy blushed, but
said:

"I guess Daddy was right when he said I'd better go to school this year.
You-all will spoil me if I stay here. Good-by, dear old Shelby, I love
everyone on the place even if they do spoil me," and away she swept, as
bonny a little bareback rider as ever sat a horse.

Meanwhile, up at the house events were shaping with the rapidity of a
moving picture show.

When Peggy left her so abruptly Madam Stewart sat still for a few
moments, pondering her next step. She had arrived at some very definite
conclusions and intended carrying them out without loss of time. Her
first move in that direction led her into the library where she wrote a
letter to her brother-in-law. It was while she was thus occupied that
Mammy had found Peggy and sent her for her ride. Then Mammy sought
Harrison. Ordinarily, Mammy would have died before consulting Harrison
about anything concerning Peggy, but here was a common issue, and if
Mammy did not know that a house divided against itself must fall, she
certainly felt the force of that argument. In Harrison she found a
sympathetic listener, for the old housekeeper had been made to feel
Mrs. Stewart's presence in the house in hundreds of irritating little
ways. Mammy told of finding Peggy in tears, though she could not, of
course, tell their cause. But Harrison needed no cause: the tears in
themselves were all the cause she required to know.

Their conversation took place in the pantry and at the height of
Harrison's protest against the new order of things a footfall was heard
in the dining-room beyond. Thinking it Jerome's and quite ready to add
one more to their league of defenders of Peggy's cause, Harrison pushed
open the swinging door and stepped into the dining-room with all of her
New England-woman's nervous activity. Mrs. Stewart stood in the room
surveying with a critical, calculating eye, every detail of its stately,
chaste appointments, for nothing had ever been changed.

Mrs. Stewart looked up as Harrison bounced in.

"O Harrison, you are exactly the person I wished to speak with," she
said. "There are to be a few changes made in Mr. Stewart's domestic
arrangements. In future I shall assume control of his home and relieve
Miss Peggy of all responsibility. You may come to me for all orders."

She paused, and for the moment Harrison was too dumbfounded to reply,
while Mammy in the pantry, having overheard every word, was noiselessly
clapping her old hands together and murmuring: "Ma Lawd! Ma Lawd! _Now_
I knows de sou'ce ob dat chile's tears." Before Harrison could recover
herself Mrs. Stewart continued:

"Dr. Llewellyn will be here tomorrow for the weekend, and as I am to be
mistress of the household it is more seemly that I preside at the head
of the table. Tell Jerome that I shall sit there in future. And now I
wish you to take me through the house that I may know more of its
appointments than I have thus far been able to learn."

Without a word Harrison led the way into the hall, and up the beautiful
old colonial stairway.

Peggy's sitting-room and bed-room were situated at the south-east corner
of the house overlooking the bay. Back of her bath and dressing-rooms
were two guest rooms. A broad hall ran the length of the second story
and upon the opposite side of it had been Mrs. Neil Stewart's pretty
sitting-room, which corresponded with Peggy's and her bed-room separated
from her husband's by the daintiest of dressing and bath-rooms. Neil
Stewart's "den" was at the rear. Beyond were lavatories, linen-room,
house-maid's room and every requirement of a well-ordered home.

Mrs. Peyton began by entering Peggy's sitting-room, a liberty she had
not hitherto taken, but she felt pretty sure Peggy was not in the house.
At any rate she had made her plunge and did not mean to be diverted from
her object now. Martha Harrison was simply boiling with wrath at the
intrusion.

"You are a wonderfully capable woman, Martha. I see I shall have very
light duties," was Mrs. Peyton's patronizing comment.

"_Harrison_, if you please, ma'am," emphasized that person.

"Oh, indeed? As you prefer. Now let me see the rooms on the opposite
side of the hall."

Perhaps had Mrs. Peyton asked Harrison to lead her into the little
mausoleum, built generations ago in the whispering white pine grove upon
the hill back of the house, it could not have been a greater liberty or
sacrilege. Not so great, possibly. In all the nine years nothing had
been changed. They were sacred to the entire household and especially
sacred to Harrison who had held it her especial privilege to keep them
immaculate. In the bed-room the toilet and dressing tables held the same
articles Mrs. Neil had used; her work-table stood in the same sunny
window. In the sitting-room the books she loved and had read again and
again were in the case, or lying upon the tables where she had left
them. It seemed as though she might have stepped from the room barely
ten minutes before. There was nothing depressing about it. On the
contrary, it impressed upon the observer the near presence of a sweet,
cultivated personality. The sitting-room was a shrine for both Peggy and
her father, and it was his wish that it be kept exactly as he had known
and loved it during the ideal hours he had spent in it with wife and
child. He and Peggy had spent many a precious one there since its
radiant, gracious mistress had slept in the pine grove. Harrison crossed
the hall and opened the door, still mute as an oyster. Mrs. Stewart
swept in, Toinette, who had followed her, tearing across the room ahead
of her and darting into every nook and corner. At that moment the
obnoxious poodle came nearer her doom than she had ever come in all her
useless life, for Harrison was a-quiver to hurl her through the open
window.

"What charming rooms," exclaimed Madam, trailing languidly from one to
the other, touching a book here, some exquisite curio there, the carved
ivory toilet articles on the dresser. The morning sunlight, tempered by
the green and white awnings at the great bowed-windows filled the
tastefully decorated rooms with a restful glow. They were beautiful
rooms in every sense of the word.

"Very charming indeed and very useless apparently. They seem not to have
been occupied in months. They are far more desirable than those assigned
to me at the North side of the house. The view of the bay is perfect. As
I am to be here indefinitely, instead of one month only, you may have my
things moved over to this suite, Harrison. I shall occupy it in future."

"Occupy _this_ suite?" Harrison almost gasped the words.

"Certainly. Why not? You need not look as though I had ordered you to
build a fire in the middle of the floor," and Mrs. Peyton laughed half
scornfully.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but when _Mr. Neil_ gives the order to move your
things into this suite, I'll move them here. These was his wife's rooms
and his orders to me was never to change 'em and I never shall 'till
_he_ tells me to. There's some things in this world that can't be
tampered with. Please call your dog, ma'am; she's scratchin' that couch
cover to ribbons."

The enemy's guns were silenced for the time being. She picked up her
poodle and swept from the room. Harrison paused only long enough to
close all the doors, lock them and place the keys in her little hand
bag. Then she departed to her own quarters to give vent to her pent-up
wrath.

Mrs. Stewart retired to her own room.

The next evening Dr. Llewellyn arrived and when he took his seat at the
table his gentle face was troubled: Mrs. Peyton had usurped Peggy's
place at the head. Peggy sat opposite to him. She had accepted the
situation gracefully, not one word of protest passing her lips and she
did her best to entertain her guests. But poor old Jerome's soul was so
outraged that for the first time in his life he was completely
demoralized. Only one person in the entire household seemed absolutely
and entirely satisfied and that was Harrison, and her self-satisfaction
so irritated Mammy that the good old creature sputtered out:

"Kingdom come, is yo' gittin' ter de pint when yo' kin see sich
gwines-on an' not r'ar right spang up an' _sass_ dat 'oman?"

"Just wait!" was Harrison's cryptic reply.



CHAPTER V

RUCTIONS!


Jerome had just passed a silver platter to Madam Stewart, his hands
trembling so perceptibly as to provoke from her the words: "Have you a
chill, Jerome?" as she conveyed to her plate some of Cynthia's
delicately fried chicken.

Jerome made no answer, but started toward Peggy's chair. He never
reached it, for at that moment a deep voice boomed in from the hall:

"Peggy Stewart, ahoy!"

With the joyous, ringing cry of:

"Daddy Neil! Oh, Daddy Neil!" Peggy sprang from the table to fling
herself into her father's arms, and to startle him beyond words by
bursting into tears. Never in all of his going to and fro, however long
his absences from his home, had he met with such a reception as this.
Invariably a smiling Peggy had greeted him and the present outbreak
struck to the very depth of his soul, and did more in one minute to
reveal to him the force of Harrison's letter than a dozen complaints.
The tears betrayed a nervous tension of which even Peggy herself had
been entirely unaware, and for Peggy to have reached a mental condition
where nerves could assert themselves was an indication that chaos was
imminent. For a moment she could only sob hysterically, while her father
held her close in his arms and said in a tone which she had never yet
heard:

"Why, Peggy! My little girl, my little girl, have you needed Daddy Neil
as much as this?"

Peggy made a gallant rally of her self-control and cried:

"Oh, Daddy, and everybody, please forgive me, but I am so surprised and
startled and delighted that I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm so
ashamed of myself," and smiling through her tears she strove to draw
away from her father that he might greet the others, but he kept her
close within his circling left arm, as he extended his hand in response
to the effusive greeting of his sister-in-law.

With what she hoped would be an apologetic smile for Peggy's untoward
demonstration, Mrs. Stewart had risen to welcome him.

"We must make allowances for Peggy, dear Neil. You came so very
unexpectedly, you know. I hardly thought my letter would be productive
of anything so delightful for us all."

"I fear it was not wholly, Katherine. I had several others also. How
are you, Doctor? I see you haven't quite abandoned the ship. Well, I'm
glad of that; I need my executive officer and my navigator also."

At the concluding words Mrs. Peyton smiled complacently. Who but she
could fill that office? But Captain Stewart's next words dissipated that
smile as the removal of a lantern slide causes the scene thrown upon the
screen to vanish.

"Yes, indeed, my navigator must get busy. She's had a long leave, but I
need her now and she's never failed me in heavy weather. She'll report
for duty on the thirtieth, thank the powers which be. Hello, Jerome!
What's rattled you like this? Next time I set my course for home I'd
better send a wireless, or I'll demoralize the whole personnel," and
Neil Stewart's hearty laugh brought a sympathetic smile to Dr.
Llewellyn's and Peggy's lips.

And well it might, for in the background the minor characters in the
little drama had filled a rôle all their own. In the doorway stood
Harrison, bound to witness the outcome of her master-stroke and
experiencing no small triumph in it. Behind her Mammy, with
characteristic African emotion, was doing a veritable camp-meeting song
of praise, though it was a _voiceless_ song, only her motions indicating
that her lips were forming the words, "Praise de Lawd! Praise Him!" as
she swayed and clasped her hands.

But Jerome outdid them all: At his first glimpse of the master he was so
flustered that he nearly collapsed where he stood, and his platter had a
perilous moment. Then, crying, "Glory be!" he beat a hasty retreat
intending to place it upon his serving table, but growing bewildered in
his joy, inadvertently set it upon a large claw-foot sofa which stood at
the end of the dining-room, where Toinette, ever upon the alert, and
_not_ banished from the dining-room as poor Tzaritza had been, promptly
pounced upon the contents, and in the confusion of the ensuing ten
minutes laid the foundation for her early demise from apoplexy.

"Brace up, Jerome, I'm too substantial to be a ghost, and nothing short
of one should bowl you over like this," were Captain Stewart's hearty
words to the old man as he shook his hand.

"Asks yo' pardon, Massa Neil! I sho' does ask yo' pardon fer lettin'
mysef git so flustrated, but we-all's so powerful pleased fer ter see
yo', an' has been a-wanting yo' so pintedly, that--that--that--but, ma
Lawd, I--I--I'se cla'r los' ma senses an', an--Hi! look yonder at dat
cusséd dawg _an'_ ma fried chicken!"

For once in her useless life Toinette had created a pleasing diversion.
With a justifiable cry of wrath Jerome pounced upon her and plucked her
from the platter, in which for vantage she had placed her fore feet.
Flinging her upon the floor, he snatched up his dish and fled to the
pantry, Neil Stewart's roars of laughter following him. Toinette rolled
over and over and then fled yelping into her mistress' lap to spread
further havoc by ruining a delicate silk gown with her gravy-smeared
feet. Tzaritza, who had followed her master into the room, looked upon
the performance with a superior surprise. Neil Stewart laid a caressing
hand upon the beautiful head and said laughingly:

"You'd blush for that little snippin-frizzle if you could, wouldn't you,
old girl? Well, it's up to you to teach her better manners. She's young
and flighty. The next time she starts in on any such rampage, just pick
her up and carry her out, as any naughty child should be carried.
Understand?"

"Woof-woof," answered Tzaritza, deep down in her throat.

"She's wise all right. After this you can leave that midget of yours in
her care, Katherine. But now let's get busy. I'm upon the point of
famishing. Come, Peggy, honey; rally your forces and serve your old
Daddy."

Peggy turned toward her aunt. Not until that moment had her father been
aware of the change made at his table. Then it came to him in a flash,
and Mrs. Peyton was hardly prepared for the change which overspread his
countenance as he asked:

"Peggy, why have you allowed your aunt to assume the obligations of
hostess? Have you lost your ability to sit at the head of my table,
daughter?"

Poor Peggy! It was well she understood or she would have been nearly
heartbroken at the rebuke. Mrs. Peyton answered for her:

"Little Peggy had far too much upon her young shoulders, dear Neil. So I
have volunteered to relieve her of some of her duties. I am happy to be
able to do so."

"Indeed, Katherine, we are all under deep obligation to you, I am sure,
but Peggy hardly seems overborne by her burdens, and it is my wish that
my daughter shall preside in her mother's place at my table. Jerome,
Mrs. Stewart is to be relieved of this obligation after this meal. You
are to be quite free of all responsibility during your visit with us,
Katherine. And now, little girl, let me look at you. July, August, and,
let me see, twenty-five days of September since I left you? Nearly
three months. You manage to do remarkable things in a brief time,
little daughter. But I fancy by the time I get back here again they will
be more remarkable. Great plans are simmering for you; great plans," and
her father nodded significantly across at her.

Peggy was too happy to even ask what they were. She could only smile and
nod back again.

Meanwhile Mrs. Stewart had used her napkin to scrub off her besmirched
poodle's feet and had then surreptitiously thumped her down upon her lap
where the table-cloth would conceal her. At Captain Stewart's concluding
words she felt her hopes revive a trifle. She was a fair actress when it
served her turn. So now smiling across the table she said:

"So you have decided to consider my suggestion, Neil?"

"In one respect, yes, Katherine. I see plainly that things can no longer
go on as they have been going. Llewellyn concurs in that." He glanced
toward the Doctor, who nodded gravely.

"I do most fully. Our halcyon days must end, I fear, as all such days do
eventually, and we must meet the more prosaic side of life. Let us hope
it will assume a pleasing form. I am loth to hand in my resignation as
Dominie Exactus, however," he ended with a smile for Peggy.

Peggy looked puzzled, and glanced inquiringly from one to the other. Her
father stretched forth a hand and laid it over hers which rested upon
the edge of the table:

"Smooth out the kinks in your forehead, honey. Nothing distressing is to
happen."

"Hardly," agreed Mrs. Stewart. "On the contrary, if your father acts
upon my suggestion something very delightful will be the outcome, I am
sure. I feel intuitively that you approve of my plan regarding the
school, Neil."

Peggy started slightly, and looked at her father. He nodded and smiled
reassuringly, then turning toward his sister-in-law, replied:

"Your letter, Katherine, only served to convince me that Peggy must now
have a broader horizon than Severndale, or even Annapolis affords. Dr.
Llewellyn and I talked it over when I was home over a year ago, and
again last June. When we first discussed it we were about as much at sea
as the 'three wise men of Gotham' who launched forth in a tub. We needed
a better craft and a pilot, and we needed them badly, I tell you, and at
that time we hadn't sighted either. Then the 'Sky Pilot' took the job
out of our hands and He's got it yet, I reckon. At any rate, indications
seem to point that way, for on my way down here He ran me alongside my
navigator and it didn't take her long to give me my bearings. She got
on board the limited at Newark, N. J., and we rode as far as Philly
together. She had three of her convoys along and they're all to the
good, let me tell you."

"Oh, Daddy, did you really meet Mrs. Harold and Polly, and who was with
them?" broke in Peggy eagerly.

"I surely did, little girl; Mrs. Harold, Polly, Ralph and Durand. She
was on her way for a week's visit with some relatives just out of
Philly--in Devon, I believe, a sort of house-party, she's
chaperoning--and a whole bunch of the old friends are to be there. Well,
I got the 'Little Mother' all to myself from Newark to Philly and we
went a twenty-knot clip, I tell you, for big as I am, I was just
bursting to unload my worries upon someone, and that little woman seems
born to carry the major portion of all creation's. She gets them, any
way, and they don't seem to feaze her a particle. She bobs up serene and
smiling after ever comber. But I've yet to see the proposition she
wouldn't try to tackle. Oh, we talked for fair, let me tell you, and in
those two hours she put more ideas into this wooden old block of mine
than it's held in as many months. Did your ears burn this afternoon,
Peggy? You are pretty solid in _that_ direction, little girl, and you'll
never have a better friend in all your born days, and don't you ever
forget _that_ fact. Well, the upshot is, that next Friday, one week from
today, Middie's Haven will have its tenant back and, meantime, she is to
write some letters and lay a train for _your_ welfare, honey. That
school plan is an excellent plan, Katherine, but not a New York school:
New York is too far away from home _and_ Mrs. Harold. Peggy will go to
Washington this winter. Hampton Roads is not far from Washington and
the ---- will put in there a number of times this winter. That gives _me_
a chance to visit my girl oftener and also gives Peggy a chance to visit
Mrs. Harold, and run out here now and again if she wishes, though the
place will be practically closed up for the winter. It was very good of
you to offer to remain here but I couldn't possibly accept that
sacrifice; for all your interests lie in New York, as you stated in your
letter to me. You still have your apartments there, you tell me, and to
let you bury yourself down here in this lonely place would be simply
outrageous. Even Peggy has been here too long, without companions."

Neil Stewart paused to take some nuts from the dish which Jerome, now
recovered and beaming, held for him. Mrs. Stewart could have screamed
with baffled rage, for, now that it was too late, she saw that she had
quite overshot the mark, and given her brother-in-law a complete
advantage over her designs. "And that hateful, designing cat!" as she
stigmatized Mrs. Harold "had completed her defeat." She had gauged her
brother-in-law as "a perfect simpleton where a woman was concerned," and
never had she so miscalculated. He _was_ easygoing when at home on
leave, or off on one of his outings, as he had been when she met him in
New London. Why not? When he worked he worked with every particle of
energy he possessed, but when he "loafed," as he expressed it, he cast
all care to the winds and was like an emancipated school-boy. It was the
school-boy side of his nature she had gauged. She knew nothing of Neil
Stewart the Naval Officer and man; hadn't the very faintest conception
of his latent force once it was stirred. And she little guessed how she
_had_ stirred it by her letter written the morning she had made Peggy so
unhappy. It was the one touch needed to bring the climax and it had
brought it with a rush which Mrs. Peyton had little anticipated. What
the outcome might have been had Neil Stewart not met Mrs. Harold on that
train is impossible to surmise further than that he had fully decided to
free himself of all connection with Peyton's widow. He had always
disliked and distrusted her, but now he detested her. Peggy's letters
had revealed far more than she guessed, though they had not held one
intended criticism. She had written just as she had written ever since
she promised him when he visited her the previous year, to send "a
report of each day, accurate as a ship's log." But she could not write
of the daily happenings without giving him a pretty graphic picture of
Mrs. Stewart's gradual usurpation, and Harrison had felt no compunction
in expressing _her_ views.

And so the "best laid plans o' mice and (wo)men" had "gone agley" in a
demoralizing manner, and Neil Stewart had come down to Severndale "under
full headway," and wasted no time in "laying hold of the helm." That
talk upon the train had been what he termed "one real old
heart-to-hearty," for Mrs. Harold had foreseen just such a crisis and
felt under no obligation to refrain from speaking her mind where Mrs.
Stewart was concerned. She had seen just such women before. Captain
Stewart had asked her to read the letters sent to him. She nearly had
hysterics over Harrison's, but Peggy's brought tears to her eyes, for
she loved the girl very dearly and understood her well. Mrs. Stewart's
letter made her eyes snap and her mouth set firmly, as she said:

"Captain Stewart, you have asked my advice and I shall give it exactly
as though Peggy were my daughter, for I could hardly love her and Polly
more dearly if they were my own children. I am under every obligation of
affection to Peggy but not the slightest to Mrs. Stewart, and from all I
observed in New London she is by no means the woman to have control over
a girl like Peggy. She is one of the most lovable girls I have ever
known, but at the same time has one of the most distinct personalities
and the strongest wills. She can be easily guided by combined wisdom and
affection, but she would be ruined by association with a calculating,
unrefined, or capricious nature, and, pardon my frankness, I consider
Mrs. Peyton Stewart all of these. Peggy needs association with other
girls--that is only natural--and we must secure it at once for her."

Neil Stewart laid her words to heart, and the ensuing week brought to
pass some radical changes.

On the thirtieth of September the whole brigade of midshipmen came
pouring back to Annapolis, the academic year beginning on October first.

On the thirtieth also came Mrs. Glenn Harold and her niece Polly
Howland, brown, happy and refreshed by their summer's outing, and Polly
eager to meet her old friends at the Academy and her chum Peggy.

October first falling upon Sunday that year the work at the Academy
would not begin until Monday, and, although the midshipmen had to report
on September thirtieth, Sunday was to a certain extent a holiday for
them and on that afternoon a rare treat was planned for some of them by
Captain Stewart.

On Sunday morning Neil Stewart, with Mrs. Stewart and Peggy drove into
Annapolis to attend service at the Naval Academy Chapel where their
entrance very nearly demoralized Polly Howland, no hint of their
intention having been given her. They were a little late in arriving and
the service had already begun. As Polly was rising from her knees after
the first prayer Peggy was ushered into the pew, and Polly, _Polly_
under all circumstances, cried impulsively:

"Oh, lovely!" her voice distinctly audible in the chancel. Whether the
Chaplain felt himself lauded for the manner in which he had read the
prayer, or was quick to guess the cause of that unusual response, it is
not necessary to decide. Certain, however, were two or three distinct
snickers from some pews under the gallery, and Polly nearly dove under
the pew in front of her.

There was no chance for the thousand and one topics of vital importance
to be even touched upon while the service was in progress, but once the
recessional rolled forth Peggy's and Polly's tongues were loosened and
went a-galloping.

"Oh, Daddy has a plan for the afternoon which is the dearest ever,"
announced Peggy, the old light back in her eyes, and the old enthusiasm
in her voice.

"Tell it right off then. Captain Stewart's plans are the most wonderful
ever. I'll never forget New London," cried Polly.

"Why, he wants you and the Little Mother and Durand and Ralph and Jean
and Gordon--"

"Gordon?" echoed Polly, a question in her eyes.

Peggy nodded an emphatic little nod, her lips closing in a half-defiant,
half who-dares-dispute-his-judgment little way, then the smile returned
to the pretty mouth and she continued, "Yes, Gordon Powers and his
room-mate, great, big Douglas Porter, and Durand's new room-mate, Bert
Taylor, he comes from Snap's old home, so Daddy learned, to come out to
Severndale this afternoon for a real frolic."

She got no further for they had reached the terrace in front of the
Chapel by that time where greetings were being exchanged between many
mutual friends and the two girls, so widely known to all connected with
the Academy were eagerly welcomed back.

Meanwhile, out on the main walk the Brigade had broken ranks and the
midshipmen were hurrying up to greet their friends. Captain Stewart was
a favorite with all, and one of the very few officers who could recall
how the world looked to him when _he_ was a midshipman. Consequently, he
was able to enter into the spirit and viewpoint of the lads and was
always greeted with an enthusiasm rare in the intercourse between the
midshipmen and the officers. Mrs. Harold was their "Little Mother," as
she had been for the past five years, and Peggy and Polly the best and
jolliest of companions and chums, their "co-ed cronies," as they called
them.

Mrs. Stewart they had met in New London, but there was a very
perceptible difference in their greeting to that lady: It was the
formal, perfunctory bow and handclasp of the superficially known
midshipman; not the hearty, spontaneous one of the boy who has learned
to trust and love someone as Mrs. Harold's boys loved and trusted her.

The crowd which had poured out of the Chapel was soon dispersed, as
everybody had something to call him elsewhere. Our group sauntered
slowly toward the Superintendent's home where Captain Stewart left them
and went in to make his request for the afternoon's frolic. It was
promptly granted and orders were given to have a launch placed at his
disposal at two-thirty P.M.

Such a treat, when least expected, sent the boys into an ecstatic frame
of mind, and when the bugle sounded for dinner formation they rushed
away to their places upon old Bancroft's Terrace as full of enthusiasm
as though averaging eight and ten instead of eighteen and twenty years
of age.



CHAPTER VI

A NEW ORDER OF THINGS


That Sunday afternoon of October first, 19-- was vital with portent for
the future of most of the people in this little story.

It took but a short time to run out to Severndale, and once there Neil
Stewart made sure of a free hour or two by ordering up the horses and
sending the young people off for a gallop "over the hills and far away."
Shashai, Silver Star, Pepper and Salt for Peggy, Polly, Durand and
Ralph, who were all experienced riders, and four other horses for
Douglas, Gordon, Jean and Bert, of whose prowess he knew little. He need
not have worried, however, for Bert Taylor came straight from a South
Dakota ranch, Gordon Powers had ridden since early childhood and Douglas
Porter had left behind him in his Southern home two hunters which had
been the joy of his life. But Jean Paul Nicholas, Ralph's little
pepper-pot of a room-mate, had never ridden a horse in his life, and the
running he would come in for at the hands of his fellow midshipmen if
they suspected that fact might have made almost any other lad hesitate
before taking his initial spin in the company of experts. Not so little
Jean Paul with his broad shoulders, the brace of an Admiral and his
five-feet-six-inches; a veritable little bantam-cock, and game to the
finish.

As the happy cavalcade set off, waving merry farewells to the older
people gathered upon the piazza, Tzaritza bounding on ahead, their route
led them past the paddock where Shelby and old Jess, with several others
connected with the estate, stood watching them. Shelby as an old hand
and privileged character, took off his hat and waved it hilariously, as
he called out:

"Well _that_ is one sight worth while, Miss Peggy. We've got our _own_
girl back again, praises be!" while old Jess echoed his enthusiasm by
shouting:

"Praise de Lawd we _has_, an' we got de boss yander, too!"

"Sure thing, Shelby!" answered Durand.

"He's all right, Shelby!" cried Ralph.

"Nicest Daddy-Neil in the world," was Polly's merry reply, then added,
"Oh, Peggy, look at Roy! He's crazy to come with us," for Roy, the
little colt Peggy had raised, was now a splendid young creature though
still too young to put under the saddle.

Peggy looked toward the paddock where Roy was running to and fro in the
most excited manner and neighing loudly to his friends.

"Let him come, Shelby, please," she called, and the foreman opened the
gate. Roy darted through like a flash, giving way to all manner of mad
antics, rushing from one four-footed companion to another, with a
playful nip at one, a wild Highland-fling-of-a-kick at another, a
regular rowdy whinny at another, until he had the whole group infected,
but funniest of all, Jean Paul's mount, the staid, well-conducted old
Robin Adair, whose whole fifteen years upon the estate had been one long
testimony to exemplary behavior, promptly set about demonstrating that
when the usually well-ordered being does "cut loose" he "cuts loose for
fair."

Jean Paul was essentially a sailor-laddie, the direct descendant of many
sailor-laddies, and he was "built upon nautical lines," so said Ralph.
On the summer cruise just ended he had demonstrated his claim to be
classed among his sire's confrères, for let the ship pitch and toss as
it would, his legs never failed him, his stomach never rebelled and his
head remained as steady and clear as the ship's guiding planet.

But he found navigating upon land about as difficult as a duck usually
finds it, and was about as well qualified to bestride and ride a horse
as that waddling bird is. Consequently, he had "heaved aboard" his
mount with many well concealed misgivings, but up to the present moment
none of his friends had even suspected his very limited experience as a
horseman, but truth to tell, never before in his life had Jean Paul's
legs crossed anything livelier than one of the gymnasium "side horses."
Now, however, the cat was about to escape from the bag, for Robin Adair,
flinging decorum and heels behind him, set forth on a mad gallop to
overhaul Roy, who had elected to set the pace for the others. Whinnying,
prancing, cavorting, away Roy tore in the lead, Robin Adair hot-foot
upon him, Jean Paul striving manfully to keep his pitching seat, which
he felt to out-pitch any deck ever designed by man. In about two minutes
the pair were a hundred yards in the lead, Jean's cap had sailed airily
from his head, and after flaunting into Silver Star's face, had roosted
upon a near-by shrub. Jean himself promptly decided that reins were a
delusion and a snare (Robin's mouth _was_ hard) and let them go to grasp
the pommel of his Mexican saddle. But even that failed to steady him in
that outrageous saddle, nor were stirrups the least use in the world;
his feet were designed to stick to a pitching deck, not those senseless
things. In a trice both were "sailing free" and--so was Jean. As Robin's
hind legs flew up Jean pitched forward to bestride the horse's neck; as
he bounded forward Jean rose in the air to resume his seat where a
horse's crupper usually rests.

Oh it was one electrifying performance and not a single move of it was
lost upon his audience which promptly gave way to hoots and yells of
diabolical glee, at least the masculine portion of it did, while Polly
and Peggy, though almost reduced to hysterics at the absurd spectacle,
implored them to "stop yelling like Comanches and _do_ something."

"_Aren't_ we doing something? Aren't we encouraging him and helping on a
good show?" "Oh, get onto that hike!" "Gee whiz, Commodore, if you jibe
over like that you'll go by the board." "Put your tiller hard a-port."
"Haul in on your jib-sheet," "Lash yourself to the main-mast or you'll
drop off astern," were some of the encouraging words of advice which
rattled about Jean's assailed ears, as the space grew momentarily wider
between him and his friends, those same friends wilfully holding in
their mounts to revel in "the show."

But Jean's patience and endurance were both failing. He could have slain
Robin Adair, and he was confident that his spine would presently shoot
through the crown of his head. So flinging pride to the four winds, he
shouted:

"Hi, come on here one of you yelling chumps, this craft's
steering-gear's out of commission! Overhaul her and take her in tow. I'd
rather pay a million salvage than navigate her another cable's length."

"'Don't give up the ship!'" "'Never say die!'" "Belay, man, belay!" were
the words hurled back until Peggy crying:

"You boys are the very limit!" pressed one knee against Shashai's side
and said softly: "Four Bells, Shashai."

Robin Adair was no match for Shashai. Robin was as good a hackney as
rider ever bestrode, but Shashai was a thoroughbred hunter with an Arab
strain. Ten mighty bounds took him to Robin's head and for Peggy to
swing far out of her saddle, grasp the dangling reins, speak the word of
command which all her horses knew, loved and obeyed, took less time than
it has taken to write of it.

"One Bell, Shashai. Robin, halt! Steady!" and Jean Paul's mount came to
a standstill with Jean Paul sitting upon its haunches, and Jean Paul's
eyes snapping, and Jean Paul's teeth biting his tongue to keep from
uttering words "unbecoming an officer and a gentleman;" for "being
overhauled by a girl" after he had "made a confounded fool of himself
trying a land-lubber's stunt" was not a rôle which seemed in any degree
an edifying one to him.

To her credit be it said, Peggy managed to keep a straight face as she
turned to look at her disgruntled guest, which was more than could be
said of his companions who came crowding upon him, even Polly's
self-control being taxed beyond the limit.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd never ridden?" asked Peggy, her lips sober
but her eyes dancing.

"Because it would have knocked the whole show on the head," answered
Jean, yanking himself forward into the saddle which only a moment before
had seemed to be in forty places at once.

"So you decided to be the whole show yourself instead! You're a dead
game sport, Commodore. Bully for you!" cried Durand, slipping from his
mount to examine the "rigging of the Commodore's craft."

"Do you want to try it again?" asked Polly.

"Will a fish swim?" answered Jean. "Do you think I'm going to let this
side-wheeler shipwreck me? Not on your life, Captain. Clear out, the
whole bunch of you chumps. If I've got to cross the equator I'll have
the escort of ladies, not a bunch of rough-necks. Beat it! You let a
_girl_ overhaul and slow down this cruiser and now you're all ready to
come in for a share of the salvage. Get out! Clear out! Beat it! Take
'em away, Captain, and leave me the Admiral. She can give everyone of
you the lead by a mile and then overhaul you on the first tack. Get out,
for I'm going to take a riding lesson and I'm going to pay extra and
have a private one."

"Yes, do go on ahead, and, Polly, call Roy. He is responsible for
Robin's capers but he will behave if you take him in charge."

"Come on, Roy--and all other incorrigibles," laughed Polly, unsnapping
her second rein and slipping it around Roy's silky neck. Roy loved and
obeyed Polly almost as readily as Peggy, and cavorted off beside her as
gay as a grig.

"We'll report heavy weather and a disabled ship, messmate," called
Ralph.

"Report and hanged. You'll see us enter port all skee and ship-shape, and
don't you fool yourself, my cock sure wife (Bancroft Hall slang for a
room-mate), so so-long. Now come on, Peggy, and put me wise to
navigating this craft, for it has me beat to a standstill."

"Go on, people; we'll follow presently and when we overhaul you you'll
be treated to a demonstration of expert horsemanship," called Peggy
after the laughing, joking group, her own and Jean's laughs merriest of
all.

"Now get busy in earnest," she said to the half-piqued lad, whose face
wore an expression of "do or die" as he again mounted his steed.

"You can just bet your last nickel I'm going to! Great Scott, do you
think I'm going to let _this_ beat me out, or that yelling mob out
yonder see me put out of commission? Now fire away. Show me how to keep
my legs clamped and to sit in the saddle instead of on this beast's left
ear."

As Peggy was a skilled teacher and Jean an apt pupil the combination
worked to perfection, and when in a half-hour's time they joined the
main body of the cavalcade, Jean had at least learned where a saddle
rests and had trained his legs to "clamp" successfully.

Meanwhile, back on Severndale's broad piazza Peggy was the subject of a
livelier discussion than she would have believed possible, and the
upshot of it was a decision which carried Neil Stewart, Mrs. Harold,
herself, and Polly off to Washington early the following morning to
visit a school of which Mrs. Harold knew. Mrs. Stewart was very
courteously asked to accompany the party of four, which was to spend
three or four days in the Capital, but Mrs. Stewart was distinctly
chagrined at her failure to carry successfully to a finish the scheme
which she felt she had so carefully thought out. Alas, she could not
understand that she sorely lacked the most essential qualities for its
success--unselfishness, disinterestedness, the finer feeling of the
older woman for the younger, and all that goes to make womanhood and
maternal instinct what they should be. She felt that her reign at
Severndale was ended and nothing remained but to make as graceful a
retreat as possible. So she declined the invitation, stating that she
was very anxious to visit some friends in Baltimore and would take this
opportunity to do so, going by a later train.

Neil Stewart did not press his invitation. He wanted Mrs. Harold and the
girls to himself for a time and knowing that it would be his last
opportunity to see them for many months, resolved to make the most of
it. Not by word or act had he expressed disapproval of Mrs. Stewart's
rather extraordinary line of conduct since her arrival at Severndale,
though evidences of it were to be seen at every turn, and both
Harrison's and Mammy's tongues were fairly quivering to describe in
detail the experiences of the past month.

Harrison was wise enough not to criticise, but she lost no opportunity
for asking if she were to carry out this, that, or some other order of
Mrs. Stewart's, until poor Neil lost his temper and finally rumbled
out:

"Look here, Martha Harrison, how long have you been at Severndale?"

"Nigh on to twenty years, sir, and full fifteen years with that blessed
child's mother before she ever heard tell of this place. I took care of
her, as right well you know, long before she was as old as Miss Peggy."

"And have I ever ordered any changes made in her rules?"

"None to my knowledge, sir. They was pretty sensible ones and there
didn't seem any reason to change them."

"Well, you're pretty long-headed, and until you _do_ see reason to
change 'em let 'em stand and quit pestering _me_. You're the Exec. on
this ship until I see fit to appoint a new one and when I think of doing
that I'll give you due notice."

But Mammy would have exploded had she not expressed her views. Harrison
had chosen the moment when Captain Stewart had gone to his room just
before supper that eventful Sunday evening, but Mammy spoke when she
carried up to him the little jug of mulled cider for which Severndale
was famous and which, when cider was to be had, she had never failed to
carry to "her boy," as Neil Stewart, in spite of his forty-six years,
still seemed to old Mammy.

Tapping at the door of his sitting-room, she entered at his "Come in."
She found him standing before a large silver-framed photograph of
Peggy's mother. It had been taken shortly before her death and when such
a tragic ending to their ideal life had least been dreamed possible. A
fancy-dress ball had been given by the young officers stationed at the
Academy and Mrs. Stewart had attended it gowned as "Marie Stuart,"
wearing a superb black velvet gown and the widely-known "Marie Stuart
coif and ruff" of exquisite Point de Venice lace. She had never looked
lovelier, or more stately in her life, and that night Neil Stewart was
the proudest man on the ballroom floor. Then he had insisted upon a
famous Washington photographer taking this beautiful picture and--well,
it was the last ever taken of the wife he adored, for within another
month she had dropped asleep forever.

Good old Mammy's eyes were very tender as she looked at her boy, and
instead of saying what she had come to say: "ter jist nachelly an'
pintedly 'spress her min'," she went close to his side and looking at
the lovely face smiling at her, said:

"Dar weren't never, an' dar ain' never gwine ter be no sich lady as dat
a-one, Massa Neil, lessen it gwine be Miss Peggy. She favor her ma mo'
an' mo' every day she livin', an' I wisht ter Gawd her ma was right
hyer dis minit fer ter _see_ it, dat I do."

"Amen! Mammy," was Captain Stewart's reply. "Peggy needs more than we
can give her just now, no matter how hard we try. The trouble is she
seems to have grown up all in a minute apparently while we have been
thinking she was a child."

Neil Stewart placed the photograph back upon the top of the bookshelf
and sighed.

"No, sir, _dat_ ain't it. Deed tain't. She been a-growin' up dis long
time, but we's been dozin' like, an' ain't had our eyes open wide
'nough. An' now we's all got shook wide awake by _somebody else_."

Mammy paused significantly. Neil Stewart frowned.

"Just as well maybe. But don't light into me. I'm all frazzled out now.
Harrison's hints are like eight inch shells; Dr. Llewellyn's like a
highly charged electric battery; Jerome fires a blunderbuss every ten
minutes and even Shelby and Jess use pop-guns. Good Lord, are you going
to let drive with a gatling? Clear out and let me drink my cider in
peace, and quit stewing, for I tell you right now the fire-brand which
has kept the kettles boiling is going to be removed."

"Praise de Lawd fo' _dat_ blessin' den. It was jist gwine ter make some
of dem pots bile over if it had a-kep' on, yo' hyer me? Good-night,
Massa Neil, drink yo' cider an' thank de Lawd fo' yo' mercies."

"Good-night, Mammy. You're all right even if I do feel like smacking
your head off once in a while. Used to do it when I was a kid, you know,
and can't drop the habit."

The following morning the party of four set off for Washington, Polly
sorely divided in her mind regarding her own wishes. To have Peggy
elsewhere than at Severndale was a possibility which had never entered
into her calculations. How would it seem to have no Severndale to run
out to? No Peggy to pop into Middie's Haven? No boon companion to ride,
walk, drive, skate with, or lead the old life which they had both so
loved? Polly did some serious thinking on the way to the big city, and
wore such a sober face as they drew near the end of their journey that
Captain Stewart asked, as he tweaked a stray lock which had escaped
bonds:

"What's going on inside this red pate? You look as solemn as an
ostracized owl."

"I'm trying to think how it is going to seem without Peggy this winter
and I don't like the picture even a little bit," and Polly wagged the
"red pate" dubiously.

"Better make up your mind to come along with your running-mate. By Jove,
that's a brain throb, Peggy! How about it? Can't you persuade this girl
of ours to give up the co-ed plan back yonder in Annapolis,--she knows
all the seamanship and nav. that's good for her already,--and you'll
need a room-mate up here at Columbia Heights School if we settle upon
it," and Captain Stewart looked at Polly half longingly, half teasingly.
Polly had grown very dear to the bluff, sincere man during her
companionship with Peggy, and had crept into a corner of his heart he
had never felt it possible for anyone but Peggy herself to fill.
Somehow, latterly when thinking and planning for Peggy's well-being or
pleasure, visions of Polly's tawny head invariably rose before him, and
Polly's happy, sunny face was always beside the one he loved best of
all. The two young girls had become inseparable in his thoughts as well
as in reality.

"Oh, Polly, will you? Will you?" begged Peggy, instantly fired with the
wildest desire to have Polly enter the school which it had been decided
she should enter if at closer inspection it proved to be all the
catalogues, letters and dozens of pamphlets sent to Mrs. Harold
represented it to be.

"If I go to the Columbia Heights School what will Ralph say? And all
the others, too? They'll say I've backed down on my co-ed plan and will
run me half to death. Besides, Ralph needs me right there to let him
know I'm keeping a lookout."

"He doesn't need you half as much as this girl of mine needs you. You
just let Ralph do a little navigating for himself and learn that it's up
to him to make good on his own account. He's man enough to; all he needs
now is to find it out. Will you let him do so by coming down here with
Peggy?"



CHAPTER VII

COLUMBIA HEIGHTS SCHOOL


As Captain Stewart asked the question which ended the last chapter the
W. B. & A. electric car came to a standstill in the heart of Washington
and as he assisted his charges to descend the steps, Polly was the last.
As she placed her hand in his she looked straight into his kind eyes and
said:

"I'm just ready to fly all to bits. I love Peggy and want to be with
her; I love Aunt Janet and old Crabtown and everything connected with
it; I've always kept neck-and-neck with Ralph in his work and I hate the
thought of dropping out of it, but, oh, I do want to be with Peggy."

"Come along out to the school and see what you think of it before you
decide one way or the other; then talk it all over with your aunt and
you won't go far amiss if you follow _her_ advice, little girl."

"I'll do it," answered Polly, with an emphatic wag of her head, and
Peggy who overheard her words nearly pranced with joy.

Hailing a taxicab Captain Stewart directed the chauffeur to drive them
to an address in the outskirts of the city and away they sped. It was
only a short run in that whirring machine over Washington's beautiful
streets and when the school was reached both Peggy and Polly exclaimed
over the beauty of its situation, for Columbia Heights School was in the
midst of spacious grounds, the buildings were substantial and
attractive, giving the impression of ample space, all the fresh air
needed by vigorous, rapidly developing bodies, and the sunshine upon
which they thrive. Beautiful walks and drives led in every direction and
not far off lovely Stony Brook Park lay in all the beauty of its golden
October glow.

Mrs. Harold and Captain Stewart were graciously welcomed by its charming
principal who promptly led the way to her study, a great room giving
upon a broad piazza, where green wicker furniture, potted plants and
palms suggesting a tropical garden. When Polly's eyes fell upon it she
forgot all else, and cried impulsively:

"Oh, how lovely! Can't we go right out there?" And then colored crimson.

Mrs. Vincent smiled as she slipped an arm across Polly's shoulder and
asked:

"Are you to be my newest girl? If so, I think we would find something
in common."

Polly raised her big eyes to the sweet, strong face smiling upon her and
answered:

"I hadn't even thought of coming until an hour ago. It was all planned
for Peggy, but, oh, dear, if I _only_ could be twins! How am I ever to
be a co-ed in Annapolis and a pupil here at the same time? Yet I want
dreadfully to be both, I'm so fond of Peggy."

"I fear we cannot solve that problem even in Columbia Heights School,
though we try pretty hard to solve a good many knotty ones. Suppose I
talk it over with the grown-ups and meantime arrange for your
entertainment by two or three of the girls. We think they are rather
nice girls too," and Mrs. Vincent pressed an electric button which
promptly brought a neat maid to the door.

"Hilda, ask Miss Natalie and Miss Marjorie to step to my study."

Within a few moments two girls appeared in the doorway, the taller one
asking:

"Did you wish to see us, Mother?"

Introductions followed, whereupon the Principal said:

"Natalie, please take Miss Stewart and Miss Howland for a walk through
the grounds. It is recreation period and they will like to meet the
other girls and see the buildings also, I think. And remember, you are
to picture everything in such glowing colors, and be so entertaining
that they will think there is no other place in all the land half so
lovely, for I have fully decided that we must have sweet P's in our posy
bed. We have a Rose, a Violet, a Lily, Myrtle, Hazel, Marguerites,--oh,
a whole flower garden already--but thus far no sweet-peas."

"We will, Mrs. Vincent. Please come with us," said Marjorie cheerily, no
trace of self-consciousness or the indefinable restraint so much oftener
the rule than the exception between teacher and pupil. Mrs. Harold had
been observing every word and action as it was a part of her nature to
observe--yes, intuitively _feel_--every word and action of the young
people with whom she came in touch, and the older ones who were likely
to bring any influence to bear upon their lives, and this little scene
did more to confirm her in the belief that she had not been amiss when
she selected Columbia Heights School for Peggy than anything else could
have done. Next to her husband, her sister and her nieces, Peggy was the
dearest thing in the world to her, and the past year had shown her what
tremendous possibilities the future held for the young girl if wisely
shaped for her. The two ensuing hours were pleasant and profitable for
all concerned and when they ended and Captain Stewart and his party
re-entered the taxicab to return to their hotel in Washington, it was
decided that Peggy should come to Columbia Heights School on October
fifteenth, but Polly's decision was still in abeyance. She wished to
have one of her long, quiet talks with her aunt before "shifting her
holding ground," she said, and that could only be up in Middie's Haven,
cuddled upon a hassock beside Mrs. Harold's easy chair, with the logs
lazily flickering upon the brass andirons. So the ensuing two days in
Washington were given over to sightseeing and "a general blow-out," as
Captain Stewart termed it, insisting that he could not have another for
months and meant to make this one "an A-1 affair." Then back they went
to Severndale where Mrs. Stewart, to their surprise, had returned the
previous day, having failed to find her friend in Baltimore. As she had
already overstayed the length of time for which her invitation to
Severndale had been extended, she had no possible excuse for prolonging
it, and deciding that her schemes had met with defeat largely owing to
her own impolitic precipitation in forcing the situation, she did not
mean to make an ignominious retreat. So, with well assumed suavity she
told her brother-in-law that some urgent business matters claimed her
attention in New York, and asked if he could complete his arrangements
for Peggy's departure without her aid, as she really ought to go North
without delay.

If Neil Stewart was amused by this sudden change in the lady's tactics,
to his credit be it said that he did not betray any sign of it. He
thanked her for her kind interest in Peggy and his home, for all she had
done for them, and left nothing lacking for her comfort upon her
homeward journey, even shipping to the apartment in New York enough
fruit, game and various other good things from Severndale to keep her
larder well supplied for weeks, and supplementing all these with a gift
which would be the envy of all her friends. But when he returned to
Severndale after bidding the lady farewell at the station, he breathed
one mighty sigh of relief. He had escaped a situation of which the
outcome was a good deal more than problematical for everyone concerned,
and most vital for Peggy.

Then came busy days of preparation for Peggy and Polly, for the outcome
of that fireside powwow had been a decision in favor of Columbia Heights
School for Polly also, for that winter at least, and when the fifteenth
dawned bright and frosty, Mrs. Harold accompanied the girls to
Washington, Captain Stewart's leave having meantime expired. But he had
gone back to his ship in a very different frame of mind from that in
which he had returned to it in July, and with a comforting sense of
security in the outcome of his present plans for Peggy. The longer he
knew Mrs. Harold the greater became his confidence in her judgment, and
she had assured him that Peggy should be her charge that winter exactly
as Polly was. Moreover, Mrs. Harold had persuaded Mrs. Howland to close
her house in Montgentian for the winter and come to Annapolis, bringing
Gail with her, for Constance had decided to follow the _Rhode Island_
whenever it was possible for her to do so, and this decision left Mrs.
Howland and Gail alone in their home. So to Wilmot Hall came Polly's
mother and pretty sister, the former to spend a delightfully restful
winter with her sister and the latter to take her first taste of the
good times possible for a girl of twenty-one at the Naval Academy.

The first breaking away from Severndale was harder for Peggy than anyone
but Mrs. Harold guessed. Somehow intuition supplied to her what actual
words could never have conveyed, even had they been spoken, but Peggy,
once her resolution had been taken to go away to school, was not a girl
to bewail her decision. And now she was a duly registered pupil at
Columbia Heights with Polly for her room-mate in number 67, her
next-door neighbor Natalie Vincent, Mrs. Vincent's daughter, a jolly,
honest, happy-go-lucky girl, who looked exactly as her mother must have
looked at fifteen. A long line of rooms extended up and down, both sides
of the corridor, the end one, No. 70, with its pretty bay-window
overlooking the lawn and Stony Brook beyond, was occupied by Stella
Drummond, a tall, striking brunette of eighteen. To the hundred-fifty
girls in Columbia Heights School this story can only allude in a brief
way but of those who figure most prominently in Polly's and Peggy's new
world we'll let Polly give the general "sizing-up." These girls were all
about the same age, and, excepting Stella, juniors, as were Peggy and
Polly, whose previous work under tutors and in high school had qualified
them to enter that grade at Columbia Heights.

It was their first night at the school, and "lights-out" bell had rung
at ten o'clock, but a glorious October moon flooded the room with a
silvery light, almost as bright as day. Peggy in one pretty little white
bed and Polly in the one beside it were carrying on a lively whispered
conversation.

"Well, we're _here_," was Polly's undisputable statement as she snuggled
down under her bed-covers, "and now that we are what do you think of
it?"

"I'm glad we've come. It will seem a lot different, and rather queer to
do everything by rules and on time, but, after all, we had to do almost
everything by rule up home."

"Yes, but they were nearly always our _own_ rules; yours, anyway. Why,
Peggy, I don't believe there is a girl in this school who ever had
things as much her own way as you have had them."

"Maybe that's the reason I didn't get along with Aunt Katherine,"
answered Peggy whimsically.

"Aunt Katherine!" Polly's whisper suggested italics. "Do you know Miss
Sturgis, the math. teacher, makes me think of her a little. Miss Sturgis
is strong-minded, I'll bet a cookie. Did you hear what she said when she
was giving out our books on sociology--doesn't it seem funny, Peggy, for
us to take up sociology?--'She hoped we would become good American
citizens and realize woman's true position in the world.' Somehow I've
thought Tanta has always had a pretty clear idea of 'woman's position in
the world.' At any rate she seems to have plenty to do in her own quiet
way and I've an idea that if anyone ever hinted that she ought to go to
the polls and vote she'd feel inclined to spell it pole and use it to
'beat 'em up' with, as Ralph and the boys would say. Oh, dear, how we
are going to miss 'the bunch,' Peggy."

"We certainly are," was Peggy's sympathetic reply, and for a moment
there was silence in the moonlit room as the girls' thoughts flew back
to Annapolis. Then Peggy asked: "What do you think of the girls? You've
been to school all your life, but it is all new to me."

Polly laughed a low, little laugh, then replied:

"They are about like most school-girls, I reckon. Let's see, which have
we had most to do with since we came here twenty-four hours ago? There's
Rosalie Breeze. She's named all right, sure enough, and if she doesn't
turn out a hurricane we'll be lucky. We had one just like her up at
High. And Lily Pearl Montgomery. My gracious, what a name to give a
girl! She needs stirring up. She's just like a big, fat, spoiled baby. I
feel like saying 'Goo-goo' to her."

"Don't you think Juno Gibson is handsome?" asked Peggy.

"Just as handsome as she can be, but I wish she didn't look so
discontented all the time. Why, she hasn't smiled once since we came."

"I wonder why not?" commented Peggy.

"Maybe we'll find out after we've been here a while. But I tell you one
thing, I like her better without any smiles than that silly Helen
Gwendolyn Doolittle with her everlasting affected giggling at nothing.
She is the kind to do some silly thing and make us all ashamed of her."

"How about Stella Drummond?"

"She is a puzzle to me. Doesn't she seem an awful lot older than the
rest of us? Rosalie says she is eighteen and that's not so much older,
but she seems about twenty-five. I wonder why?"

"Maybe she has lived in cities all her life and gone out a lot. You know
most of the girls we met up at New London seemed so much older too, yet
they really were not. They looked upon us as children, though the Little
Mother said we were years older in common sense while they were years
older in worldly experience,--I wonder what she meant?"

"Tanta meant that we had stayed young girls and could enjoy fun and
frolic as much as ever, but those girls were not satisfied with anything
but dances and theatres and all sorts of grown-up things. We have our
fun with our horses, dogs and the nonsense with the boys up home. We
want our skirts short and our hair flying and to romp when we feel like
it."

"Picture Helen or Lily Pearl romping," and Peggy dove under the covers
to smother her laughter at the thought of the fat, pudgy Lily Pearl
attempting anything of the sort. Polly snickered in sympathy and then
said in her emphatic way:

"I tell you, Peggy, which girls I _do_ like and I think they will like
us: Marjorie Terry and Natalie Vincent. Marjorie is awfully sober and
quiet, I know, but _I_ believe she's sort of lonely, or homesick or
something. Natalie seems more like our own kind than any girl in the
school and I'll wager my tennis racquet she'll be lots of fun if she is
the Principal's daughter. But we'd better go to sleep this minute. We've
made a sort of hash of seven girls, and if we try to size up the whole
school this way it will be broad daylight before we finish. Good-night.
It's sort of nice to be here after all, and nicer still to have you for
a room-mate, old Peggoty."

An appreciative little laugh was the only answer to this and five
minutes later the moon was looking in upon a picture hard to duplicate
in this great world: Two sweet, unspoiled, beautiful girls in the first
flush of untroubled slumber.

The following morning being Saturday and Peggy's and Polly's belongings
having arrived, the girls set about arranging their room, half a dozen
others having volunteered assistance. For convenience in reaching "up
aloft" Peggy and Polly had slipped off their waists and were arrayed in
kimonos which aroused the envy of their companions. Captain Stewart had
given them to his "twins" as he now called the girls. Peggy's was the
richest shade of crimson embroidered in all manner of golden gods and
dragons; Polly's pale blue with silver chrysanthemums.

"Oh, _where_ did they come from?" cried Natalie.

"Daddy Neil brought them to us," answered Peggy, as she stepped toward
the door to take an armful of pictures and pillows from old Jess who had
followed his young mistress to Washington to care for Shashai and Silver
Star, the horses having been sent on also, for Columbia Heights School
had large stables for the accommodation of riding or driving horses for
the use of its pupils, or they could bring their own if they preferred.
So Shashai and Silver Star had been ridden down by Jess, taking the
journey in short, easy stages, and arriving the previous evening.
Tzaritza, to her astonishment had not been allowed to accompany them,
and Roy was inconsolable for days. Peggy's departure from Severndale had
left many a grieving heart behind.

"What I gwine do wid all dis hyer truck, Missie-honey?" asked Jess,
coming in from the corridor with a second armful: riding-crops, silver
bits, a fox's brush, books and what not.

"Just plump it down anywhere, Jess. We'll get round to it all in due
time," laughed Peggy from her perch upon a small step-ladder where she
was fastening up some hat-bands of the _Rhode Island_, _New Hampshire_,
_Olympia_ and the ships which had comprised the summer practice
squadron, the girls all gathered about her asking forty questions to the
minute and wild with curiosity and excitement. Never before had two
"really, truly Navy girls" been inmates of Columbia Heights and it sent
a wild flutter through many hearts. What possibilities might lie at the
Annapolis end of the W. B. & A. Railroad!

Jess's white woolly head was bent down over the armful of books he was
placing upon the floor; Peggy had returned to her decorating; Polly had
draped her flag upon the wall and was standing her beloved bugle and a
long row of photographs upon book-shelves beneath it, several girls
following her with little squeals of rapture, when a pandemonium of
shrieks and screams arose down the corridor and the next second a huge
creature bounded into the room, tipping Jess and his burden heels over
head, and flinging itself upon Peggy. Down came ladder, Peggy, and the
white mass in a heap, the girls scattering in a shrieking panic to
whatever shelter seemed to offer, confident that nothing less than a
wolf had invaded the fold.

But Tzaritza was no wolf even if her beautiful snowy coat was
mud-bedraggled and stuck full of burrs, nor was Peggy being "devoured
alive," as Lily Pearl, who had actually _run_ for once in her life, was
hysterically sobbing into Mrs. Vincent's arms.

No, Peggy, rather promiscuous as to ladder, hammer, hat-bands and
general paraphernalia, was lying flat upon her back, her arms around
Tzaritza, half-sobbing, half-laughing her joy into the beautiful
creature's silky neck, while Tzaritza whimpered and whined for joy and
licked and dabbed her mistress with a moist tongue.

"It is a wolf! A wolf!" shrieked Lily Pearl, who had returned to the
scene, "and he is killing her."

"It is a horrid, dirty dog! Why doesn't that man drive him out?"
demanded Miss Sturgis, who had followed Tzaritza hot foot, having been
in the main hall when the great hound went tearing through and up the
stairs, nose and ears having given her the clue to her mistress'
whereabouts.

"No, it's only a wolf_hound_!" laughed Polly, dropping her pictures to
fly across the room and fall upon Tzaritza.

Then explanations followed. Tzaritza had been left in Shelby's care, but
finding it impossible to restrain her when Jess was about to leave with
the horses, he had tied her in the barn. The rope was bitten through as
clean as a thread and Tzaritza's coat told of the long journey on the
horses' trail.

After her wild demonstrations of joy had calmed down, Tzaritza stood
panting in the middle of the wreck which her cyclonic entrance had
brought about, her great eyes pleading eloquently for restored favor.

Polly still clasped her arms about the big shaggy neck, while Miss
Sturgis alternately protested and commanded Jess to "remove that dirty
creature at once." Happily, Mrs. Vincent entered the room at this
juncture and it must have been the god of animals, of which Kipling
tells us, which inspired Tzaritza's act at that moment. Or was it
something in the fine, strong face which children and animals in common
all trust with subtle intuition? At all events, Tzaritza looked at Mrs.
Vincent just one moment and then greeted her exactly as at home she
would have greeted Dr. Llewellyn or Captain Stewart; by rising upon her
hind legs, placing her forepaws upon Mrs. Vincent's shoulders and
nestling her magnificent head into the amazed woman's neck as
confidingly as a child would have done. A less self-contained woman
would have been frightened half to death. Miss Sturgis came near
swooning but Mrs. Vincent just gathered the great dog into her arms as
she would have gathered one of her girls and said:

"Without the power of human speech you plead your cause most eloquently,
you beautiful creature. Peggy, has she ever been separated from you
before, dear?"

"Never, Mrs. Vincent. She has slept at my door since she was a wee
puppy."

"She shall be appointed guardian of the West Wing of Columbia Heights,
and may turn out a guardian for us all. Now, Jess, take her to the
stables and make her presentable to polite society. Poor Tzaritza, your
journey must have been a long, hard, dusty one, for your silken fringes
have collected many souvenirs of it."



CHAPTER VIII

A RIDING LESSON


In spite of the Sturgeon's protests that "it was _most_ impolitic to
establish a precedent in the school," Tzaritza became a duly enrolled
member of the establishment, and from that moment slept at Peggy's door,
a welcome inmate of Columbia Heights. Welcome at least, to all but one
person. Miss Sturgis loathed all animals.

In the ensuing weeks Peggy and Polly slipped very naturally into their
places. In her own class and in the West Wing Natalie Vincent had always
been the acknowledged leader, for, even though the daughter of the
Principal, not the slightest partiality was ever shown her and she was
obliged to conform as strictly to the rules as any girl in the school.
She was full of fun, eternally in harmless mischief, and, of course,
eternally being taken to task for her misdeeds.

By the usual order of the attraction of opposites Marjorie Terry and
Natalie had formed a warm friendship. Marjorie the quiet, reserved,
rather shrinking girl from Seattle. She never joined in any of Natalie's
wild pranks, but on the other hand was a safe confidant, and if she
could not follow her more spontaneous friend's lead, she certainly never
balked or betrayed her. The other girls had christened them Positive and
Negative and they certainly lived up to their names.

The girls whom Peggy and Polly had discussed so frankly the night after
their arrival all roomed in the West Wing. Stella in her own large,
handsome room, for her father was manager of an immense railroad system
in the middle West. Rosalie Breeze and oh "cursed spite!" Isabel
Boylston--"_Is_-a-bel," as she pronounced it,--roomed together and
squabbled incessantly. At least, Rosalie did the squabbling, _Is_-a-bel
affected the superior, self-righteous air which acted upon Rosalie's
peppery temper as a red rag upon a bull. It was Miss Sturgis, of course,
who had advised placing them together. Isabel was a great favorite of
Miss Sturgis, and Rosalie was the reverse.

Mrs. Vincent had not entirely approved the arrangement, but the school
was unusually crowded this year and two of the girls' parents had
insisted upon single rooms for their daughters. Juno Gibson, from New
York, had announced very positively that unless she could have a room
to herself in Columbia Heights School she would pack her three trunks
and go elsewhere, and Papa Gibson was not in the habit of disputing his
daughter's will or wishes unless they conflicted with his own. In this
matter he didn't care a straw, so Miss Juno was not compelled to have "a
dozen girls eternally under foot and ruining my clothes by crowding the
closets full of theirs."

Lily Pearl, "Tootsy-wootsy," as her companions had dubbed her, roomed
with Helen Gwendolyn Doolittle, "Cutie," and a sweet, sentimental pair
they made, though Helen spent every possible moment with the latest
object of her adoration, Stella Drummond, for whom she had instantly
conceived an overwhelming infatuation; a pronounced school-girl "crush."

Of the other girls in the school only a passing glimpse need be given.

Saturday afternoons were always perfectly free at Columbia Heights, and
the girls could do practically as they chose. There was one rule, or
rather the absence of it, which had appealed very strongly to Mrs.
Harold and gone a long way toward biasing her choice in favor of the
school. If the girls wished to go into the city--that is, the girls in
the Sophomore, Junior and Senior grades--to do shopping or make calls,
they were entirely at liberty to do so unattended by a teacher, though
Mrs. Vincent must, of course, know where they were going. With very rare
exceptions this rule had always worked to perfection. The very fact that
they might do as they chose, and were put upon their honor to uphold the
reputation and dignity of the school, usually acted as an incentive to
them to do so, whereas the eternal surveillance and suspicion of the
average school acts as a mighty inspiration to circumvent all
regulations.

Another pleasant feature of Saturday afternoons were the long riding
excursions through the beautiful surrounding country, with a groom
accompanying the party and with one of the girls acting as riding
mistress. Besides Peggy and Polly, Stella was the only girl who had her
own horse at Columbia Heights, the others riding those provided by the
school. They were good horses and the riding-master, Albert Dawson, was
supposed to be a good man, conscientious, painstaking, careful. He was
conventional to a degree. He taught the English seat, the English rise,
the English gait, and his horses were all docked and hogged in the
English fashion. Dawson would doubtless have taught them to drop their
H's as he himself did, had he been able to do so.

When Shashai and Silver Star arrived upon the scene, manes and forelocks
long and silky as a girl's hair, tails almost sweeping the ground and
flowing free, poor Dawson nearly died of outraged conventions, though he
was forced to admit that the Columbia Heights stables held no horseflesh
to compare with these thoroughbreds.

"But oh, my 'eart, look at that mess o' 'air and mind their paces. They
lopes along for all the world like them blooming little jackals we used
to 'ave bout in Hindia when I was in 'is Lordship's service. They'd ruin
my reputation if they was to be seen in the Row," he deplored to Jess,
who was grooming his pets as carefully as old Mammy would have brushed
Peggy's hair.

Jess gave a derisive snort. He had lived a good many more years than
Dawson and his experience with horseflesh was an exceptionally wide one.

"Well, yo'-all needn't be a troublin' yo' sperrits 'bout de gait ob dese
hyer horses. Dey kin set de pace fo' all dat truck yonder, an' don' yo'
fergit dat fac'. Yo's got some fairly-middlin'-good ones hyer," and Jess
nodded toward the stalls, "but dey's just de onery class, not de
quality. No-siree. Now, honey, don' yo' go fer ter git perjectin' none
cause I'se praisin' yo' to yo' face. Tain't good manners fer ter take
notice when yo's praised. Yo' mistiss 'll tell yo' dat," admonished
Jess, as Shashai reached forward and plucked his cap from his head. "Yo'
gimme dat cap, yo' hyer me!"

But Shashai's teeth held it firmly as he tossed it playfully up and
down, to Jess' secret delight in his pet's cleverness, though he
outwardly affected strong disapproval, after the manner of his race.

The horses were like playful, fearless children with him, and Jess was
bursting with pride at the result of his handiwork. And certainly, it
was worth looking upon, for no finer specimens of faultlessly groomed
horseflesh could have been found in the land.

"Yes, but think of the figure I'll be cutting when I take my young
ladies for a turn in the park or on the havenue," protested Dawson.
"Couldn't ye just knot hup them tails a bit, and mebbe braid that
fly-away mane down along the crest? If I'm bordered to take my young
ladies into the park or the city this hafternoon, I swear I'll hexpire
of mortification with them 'orses."

But this was too much for Jess. Dawson had at last touched the match,
and he caught the full force of Jess's wrath:

"Sp-sp-spire ob--ob mortification! Shamed ob dese hyer hosses! Frettin'
cause yo's gotter 'scort a pair of animals what's got pedigrees dat
reach back ter Noah's Ark eanemost! Why, dey blood kin make you-all's
look lak mullen sap, an' dey manners, even if dey ain' nothin' but
hosses, jist natchelly mak' yo' light clean outer sight. Sho'! Go long,
chile! Yo' gotter live some. Dar, it done struck five bells--_dat_ mean
ten-thirty, unerstan'--an' you's gotter git half-a-dozen ob yo'
bob-tailed nags ready fo' de ridin' lessons yo' tells me yo' gives de
yo'ng ladies at _six_ bells,--_dat's_ eleben o'clock,--Sattidy mawnin's.
I's pintedly cur'us fer ter see dem lessons, _I_ is. Lak 'nough befo' de
mawnin's ober _yo'll_ take a lesson yo'-self," and Jess ended his tirade
by throwing an arm across each silky neck and saying to his charges:

"Now, come 'long wid ole Jess, honeys. Yo's gwine enter high sassiety
presen'ly, and yo's gotter do Severndale credit. Yo' hyer me?"

Poor Dawson was decidedly perturbed in his mind. Hitherto he had been
the autocrat of "form and fashion," the absolute dictator of the proper
style. Under his ordering, horses had been bought for the school,
cropped, docked and trimmed on the most approved lines, until nothing
but a hopeless, forlorn stubble indicated that they had once boasted
manes or forelocks, and poor little affairs like whisk-brooms served for
tails, or rather did not serve, especially in fly-time. But that was a
minor consideration. Fashion's dictates were obeyed.

With the aid of his grooms Dawson soon had five horses saddled and
bridled, curbs rattling and saddles creaking. There were only two cross
saddles. Then he turned to Jess.

"Ye'd better be gettin' them hanimals ready, for I dare say I've to give
the young ladies their lessons too."

"Hi-ya!" exploded Jess. Then added: "Come 'long, babies, an' git dressed
up. Yo' all's gwine git yo' summons up yonder presen'ly."

Shashai and Star obediently walked over to the bar upon which their
light headstalls hung, sniffed at them with long audible breaths, then
each selecting his own carried it to Jess in his teeth.

"Well, Hi'll be blowed!" murmured Dawson.

Jess pretended not to notice, but saying unconcernedly: "Dat's all
right. Now put 'em on lak gentlemen," he held one in each hand toward
his pets. They took the bits in their mouths, slipped their heads into
the headstalls and then waited for Jess to buckle the throat-latches,
for that was a trifle beyond them. "Now fotch yo' saddles," ordered
Jess, pleased to the point of foolishness. The horses went to the saddle
blocks, selected their saddles, lifted them by the little pommel and
carried them to Jess like obedient children.

No mother was ever more gratified than Jess. "Now honeys, yo' stan'
right whar yo's at twell yo' summons come from over yander. Yo's gwine
hyar it all right," and with this parting admonition to good behavior,
Jess went unconcernedly about his business of putting away the articles
of his pets' toilets.

"They'll be a-boltin' and raisin' the very mischief if you leave them
alone," warned Dawson.

"What dat yo' say? I reckons yo' ain' got _yo'_ horses trained like
we-all back yonder got _ours_. Paht ob dey eddications must a-been
neglected ef dey gotter be tied up ter keep 'em whar yo' wants 'em fer
ter _stay_ at. Yo' need'n worry 'bout Shashai and Star. _Dey's_ got
sense."

Dawson vouchsafed no reply. One must be tolerant with garrulous old
niggers, but he'd keep an "hey on them 'orses" all the same.

The riding school used in stormy weather and the circle for fine, were
not far from the house. At five minutes before eleven the girls who were
to have their Saturday morning lessons prior to the ride in the
afternoon, went over to the school and an electric bell notified Dawson
that his young ladies awaited their mounts. With due decorum and
self-importance he and Henry, the groom, led the horses from the stable,
Dawson calling over his shoulder:

"You'd better come on with your Harabs, I can't be waitin' with my
lessons."

"We-all'll come 'long when we's bid," was Jess' cryptic retort.

Dawson scorned to reply, but mounted on his big dapple-gray horse, Duke,
body bent forward and elbows out, creaked away. When he reached the big
circle where a group of girls stood upon the platform for mounting,
Peggy and Polly, in their trim little divided skirts, looked inquiringly
for Shashai and Silver Star. Peggy asked:

"Are our horses ready, Dawson?"

"Yes, Miss, I believe so, Miss, but your man seemed to think I'd best
let you ring, or do--well, I don't rightly know _what_ 'ee hexpected you
to do, Miss. But 'ee didn't let me bring the 'orses, beggin' your
pardon, Miss."

"Oh, that's all right, Dawson; Jess is just silly about the horses and
us. You mustn't mind his little ways. It's only because he loves us all
so dearly. Besides it isn't necessary for anyone to bring them. I'll
call them," and placing a little silver bo's'n's whistle to her lips
Peggy "piped to quarters." It was instantly answered by two loud neighs
and the thud of rapid hoofbeats as Shashai and Silver Star came
sweeping up the broad driveway from the stables, heads tossing, manes
waving and tails floating out like streamers. The girls with Peggy and
Polly clapped their hands and shrieked with delight.

"One bell, Shashai! Halt, Star!" cried Peggy and Polly in a breath.

The splendid animals came straight to them, stopped instantly, dropped
to their knees and touched the ground with their soft muzzles in sign of
obeisance. The girls all scrambled off the platform as one individual,
riding lesson and everything else utterly forgotten; here was a new
order of things hitherto utterly undreamed of in the school. It had been
a case of "pigs is pigs" or "horses is horses" with them. That the
animals they were learning to ride _à la mode_ might be something more
than mere delightful machines of transportation had never entered their
heads.

"Oh, how did you make them do it? Will you show us? Will any horse come
if you know how to call him? Can they all do that? Didn't it take you
forever and ever to teach them? Aren't they beauties! What are they
trying to do now?" were the questions rattling like hail about Peggy's
and Polly's ears.

For answer Peggy opened a little linen bag which she carried, handing
to Polly three lumps of sugar and taking three out for her own pet. The
horses crunched them with a relish, their light snaffle bits acting as
only slight impediments to their mastication.

"Do you always give them sugar? Oh, please give us some for our horses,"
begged the girls.

"Young ladies, I don't 'old with givin' the 'orses nothin' while in
'arness and a-mussin' them up. They'll be a-slobberin' themselves a
sight," expostulated Dawson.

"But Miss Stewart's and Miss Howland's horses are not slobbered up,"
argued Natalie.

"They've not got curb bits. Just them snaffles which is as good as none
whatever," was Dawson's scornful criticism.

"Well, why must ours have curbs if theirs don't," argued Juno Gibson,
whose habitual frown seemed to have somewhat lessened during the past
five minutes. If Juno had a single soft spot in her heart it was touched
by animals. She did not have a horse of her own, though she insisted
upon always having the same mount, to Dawson's opposition, for he
contended that to become expert horsewomen his pupils must change their
mounts and become accustomed to different horses. In the long run the
argument was a good one, but Miss Juno did not yield readily to
arguments. Therefore she invariably rode Lady Belle, a light-footed
little filly, with a tender mouth and nervous as a witch. Her big gentle
eyes held a constant look of appeal, she was chafed incessantly by the
heavy chain curb, and if anyone approached her suddenly she started
back, jerking up her head as though in terror of a blow. But with Juno
she was tractable as a lamb, and the pretty creature's whole expression
changed when the girl was riding her. Juno had a light, firm hand upon
the bit and in spite of Dawson's emphatic orders to "'old 'er curb well
in 'and perpetual," she rarely used it, and Lady Belle obeyed her
lightest touch.

"Our 'orses are 'arnessed as they had orter be, Miss Gibson, and as the
Queen 'erself rides them in the hold country. 'Hi'm doing my best to
teach you young ladies proper, and I can't 'old with some of these loose
Hamerican 'abits. They wouldn't be 'eld with for a minute in the Row."

"Oh, a fig for your old Row, Dawson! _We're_ all American girls and
there's more snap-to in us in one of your 'minutes' than in all the
English girls I've ever seen in my life, and I've seen a good
many--_too_ many for my peace of mind. I lived there two years," broke
in Rosalie Breeze. "I'll bet Miss Howland and Miss Stewart can show you
some stunts in riding which would make your old queen's eyes pop out.
Why don't you quote Helen Taft to us instead of Queen Mary? We don't
care a whoop for the queen of England, but Helen Taft is just a Yankee
girl like ourselves and we can see her ride almost any day if we want
to. She is big enough for us to see, goodness knows. But come on, girls.
Let's do our stunts," and Rosalie scrambled upon the platform once more,
ready to mount Jack-o'-Lantern, the horse she was to ride.

Meanwhile Lady Bell sniffing something eatable, had drawn near Peggy,
half doubtful, half trustful. At that instant Peggy turned rather
quickly, entirely unaware of the filly's approach. With a frightened
snort the pretty creature started back. Peggy grasped the situation
instantly. She made a step forward, raised her arm, drew the silky neck
within her embrace, whispered a few words into the nervously alert ear,
and the hour was won. Lady Belle nestled to her like a sensitive,
frightened child.

"'Ave a care, Miss Stewart! 'Ave a care! She's a snappy one," warned
Dawson with bristling importance as he turned from settling _Is_-a-bel
Boylston upon a big, white, heavy-footed horse, where she managed to
keep her place with all the grace of outline and poise of a meal sack.

Now Peggy had been sizing things up pretty thoroughly during the past
fifteen minutes, and her conclusions were not flattering to Dawson.
There was a cut upon Lady Belle's sensitive nostril which told its
little story to her. Jack-o'-Lantern's hoofs were varnished most
beautifully, but when he lifted them one glimpse told Peggy the
condition of the frogs. The silver mounting upon "The Senator's,"
Isabel's horse's harness were shining, but his bit was rusty and untidy.
A dozen little trifles testified to Dawson's superficiality, and Peggy
had been mistress of a big paddock too long to let this popinjay lord it
over one whom he sized up as "nothin' but a school girl." Consequently,
her reply to his warning slightly upset his equanimity.

"You need not be alarmed, Dawson, but if Lady Belle turns fractious I'll
abide the consequences."

"Yes, Miss, yes, Miss, but _'Hi'm_ responsible, you understand."

"What for? The horse's well-being or mine? I'll relieve you of mine, and
give you more time to care for the horses. Lady Belle's muzzle seems to
have suffered slightly. Jack-o'-Lantern's hoofs need your attention, and
at Severndale a bit like the Senator's would mean a bad quarter of an
hour for _some_body. So, you'd have a hard time 'holding down your job'
there. That's pure American slang. Do you understand it?" and shrugging
her shoulders slightly, Peggy cried: "Come on, girls! We're wasting
loads of time. Attention, Shashai! Right dress! Right step! Front!
Steady!"

As Peggy spoke, Shashai and Silver Star sprang side by side, then stood
like statues. At "right dress" they turned their heads toward the group
of horses. At "right step," they closed up until they stood in perfect
line beside them. At "front," "steady" they stood facing the two girls,
waiting the next command.

"Come up to the platform. Come up and be ready to mount, young ladies,"
ordered Dawson.

"We'll mount when you give the word," answered Polly, her hand, like
Peggy's, upon her horse's withers.

"You'll never be able to from the ground, Miss."

A ringing laugh from the girls, sudden springs and they were in their
saddles. "Four bells!" they cried and swept away around the ring, their
gay laughter flung behind them to where their companion's horses were
fidgeting and chafing under Dawson's highly conventional restraint,
while that disconcerted man whose veneer had so promptly been
penetrated by Peggy's keen vision, forgot himself so far as to mutter
under his breath:

"These Hamerican girls are the limit, and I'm in for a ---- of a time if
I don't mind my hey. And she Miss Stewart of Severndale, and I not hon
to that before! 'Ere's a go and no mistake."



CHAPTER IX

COMMON SENSE AND HORSE SENSE


As has no doubt already been suspected, Alfred Dawson, Riding Master at
the Columbia Heights School, was such a complete impostor that he
actually imposed upon himself. He is by no means the only one on record.
Oddly enough we are all more or less impostors, blind to our own pet
foibles, deluded as to our own little weaknesses. Dawson's methods with
his charges, both two-footed and four, were the methods of thousands of
others, whether they have the directing of young people, or the training
of animal's entrusted to them. Like grains of corn--pour them into a
hopper and they come out at the other end meal--of some sort--good--bad
or indifferent as it happens--that was not _his_ concern; his job was to
pour in the grains and he knew of but one way to pour--just as someone
else had poured before him. That he might devise new and better methods
of pouring never entered his square-shaped head. It was left for a
fifteen-year-old girl, and an old darky, whom in his secret heart he
regarded as no better than the dirt beneath his feet, to start volcanic
eruptions destined to shake the very foundations of his
self-complacence. Hitherto he had simply been lord of his realm. He had
come to Columbia Heights highly recommended by the father of one of its
pupils and had assumed undisputed control. Mrs. Vincent, like hundreds
of other women who own horses, but who know about as much concerning
their care and well-being as they know of what is needful for a Rajah's
herd of elephants, judged wholly by the outward evidences. The horses
came to the house in seemingly faultless condition: their coats shone,
their harness seemed immaculate; they behaved in a most exemplary
manner. Nor had anything ever happened to the young ladies while they
were in Dawson's care. What more could a conscientious school Principal
ask of her riding master? It had never occurred to her to appear in the
stables when least expected; to examine harness, saddles, stalls, feed
mangers, bedding; to study the expressions of her horses' faces as she
would have studied her girls. How many women ever think of doing so? It
never entered her head to argue that there was more reason for it. Few
of her girls would have hesitated to express their minds had any one
misused them, or to insist upon comfortable conditions should
uncomfortable ones exist for them.

Yet Mrs. Vincent, sweet, strong, kind, and just to everyone, was as
blind as a babe to the impositions practiced by the oily-tongued,
deferential Dawson. True, he did 'get upon her nerves' now and again,
but she secretly reproached herself for what she felt to be her American
prejudices, and by way of self-discipline overlooked in Dawson many
little aggravating peculiarities which she would have felt it her duty
to instantly correct in the other servants.

And no doubt things would have gone on in exactly the same way
indefinitely had not a little lassie who loved horses and animals as she
loved human beings, and whose understanding of them and their
understanding of her was almost uncanny, chosen Columbia Heights School
for her Alma Mater.

That was a red letter hour for Dawson. He had a vague feeling that some
influence, perhaps his evil genius, was bestirring itself. At all
events, he was ill at ease, something of his accustomed self-conceit was
lacking and he was, as the result, somewhat irritable, though he dared
not manifest open resentment.

Now it need hardly be stated that Peggy had no premeditated intention of
antagonizing the man. He meant no more to her than dozens of other
grooms, for after all he was merely an upper servant, but her quick eyes
had instantly made some discoveries which hurt her as a physical needle
prick would have hurt her. Peggy had employed too many men at Severndale
under Shelby's wonderful judgment and experience of both men and
animals, not to judge pretty accurately, and _most_ intuitively, the
type of man mounted upon big, gray "Duke." Duke's very ears and eyes
told Peggy and Polly a little story which would have made Dawson's pale
blue eyes open wider than usual could he have translated it.

As Peggy and Polly went cavorting away across the ring, Dawson called
rather peremptorily:

"Young ladies, you will be good enough to come back and take your places
beside the others. This is a riding lesson, not a circus show, _hif_ you
please."

Polly shot a quick glance at Peggy. There was the slightest possible
pressure of their knees and Shashai and Silver Star glided back to their
places beside the other four horses.

"Now you will please 'old your reins and your bodies as the other young
ladies do," commanded Dawson.

"Never could do it in this world, Dawson. I'd have a crick in my back
in two minutes. Besides, we're not out here for lessons, Miss Stewart
and I, but just as spectators. We'll look on and see the other girls
learn the proper caper," laughed Polly.

"Then I can't for the life of me hunderstand why you came hout at all.
Hit's just a-stirrin' hup and a-fidgeting the other 'orses. They're not
used to the goin's hon of 'alf broke hanimals."

"Half broken! It seems to me, Dawson, that most horses are _wholly_
broken but very few wholly _trained_. If we disturb the others, however,
we'll go off for a spin by ourselves. Come, Polly. Full speed, Tzaritza!
Four bells, Shashai!" and away sped the trio, Tzaritza, like the
obedient creature she was, bounding from the platform where Peggy had
bidden her "charge," lest she startle the horses.

"I'll hopen the gate for you, Miss," Dawson hastened to call, a trifle
doubtful as to whether he had not been just a little too dictatorial.

"No need. This gate is nothing," called Peggy and as one, they skimmed
over the four-foot iron gate as though it were four inches, hands
waving, eyes alight, lips parted in gay laughter. Tzaritza's joyful bark
mingling with their voices as she rushed away.

The girls' cries of admiration or amazement drowned Dawson's:

"Well, 'Hi'll be blowed! Hi couldn't a done hit like that to save me
'ead," which was quite true, for very few could ride as these young
girls rode.

Meanwhile back in the circle two of Dawson's pupils were expressing
themselves without reserve.

"I mean to learn to ride like _that_," announced Rosalie Breeze. "The
idea of bouncing up and down in a stupid old side-saddle when we could
just as well sit as Polly and Peggy do. Why, I never saw anything as
graceful as those two girls in my life. Can't _you_ show me how, Dawson?
If you can't you can just make up your mind I am going to find someone
who _can_. Jack-o'-Lantern's sure enough disgusted with _this_ show-down,
and I believe that's the reason he has no more spirit than a bossy-cow."

"I'm going to speak to Mrs. Vincent," announced Juno. "This may be all
very conventional and correct, but all I can do is rise and fall in a
trot; I'm petrified if Lady Belle breaks into a canter, and if she were
to leap over that fence, I'd break my neck. Yet did you ever _see_
anything so graceful as those two girls and that magnificent dog when
they went over? I tell you, girls, we've got something worth while in
this school now, believe me. And just you wait!" and with this cryptic
ending Juno jockeyed ahead of her companions.

"I wish mother could have seen and heard it all," whispered Natalie.

"Then why don't you tell her, and ask her to come out and see those
girls ride," demanded Rosalie.

"That's exactly what I mean _to_ do," replied Natalie, with an emphatic
little nod. "I'm beginning to believe we don't know half we should know
about the stables."

"I should imagine that Mrs. Vincent would be a far better judge of what
was proper for young ladies than a couple of perfectly lawless girls who
have been brought up on a Southern ranch or something. _I_ call them
perfect hoydens and they would not be countenanced a moment in the Back
Bay," was Isabel's superior opinion.

"A Southern ranch?" echoed Rosalie, "You're mixed in your geography,
Isabel. They have plantations and estates in the South, but the ranches
are out West. But I don't wonder you prefer bumping along as you do on
the old Senator. You match him all right, all right. But just you wait
until we leave you behind when we've learned to ride like Peggy and
Polly, for we're going to do it, you can just bet your best hat."

"Thank you, I never indulge in betting or slang. Both are vulgar in the
extreme. And as to riding like a circus performer, I have higher aims in
life."

"Going in for the trapeze? They say it's fine to reduce embonpoint."

No reply was made to Rosalie's gibe and the lesson went on in its usual
uneventful manner. Meanwhile Peggy and Polly were having a glorious game
of tag, for the Columbia Heights grounds were very extensive, and drives
led in every direction. When pursued and pursuer were in a perfect gale
of merriment, and Tzaritza giving way to her most joyous cavortings, a
sudden turn brought them upon Mrs. Vincent. She was seated upon a rustic
bench in one of the cosy nooks of the grounds and Tzaritza, bounding
ahead, was the first to see her, and Tzaritza never forgot a kindness.
The next second she had dropped upon the ground at Mrs. Vincent's feet,
her nose buried in her forepaws--Tzaritza's way of manifesting her
allegiance and affection. Then up she rose, rested her feet upon the
bench and for the second time laid her head upon Mrs. Vincent's
shoulder. Before that gratified lady had time to do more than place an
arm about the big dog's neck, Peggy's and Polly's chargers had come to
a halt in front of her and at word of command stood as still as statues.
The girls slipped from the horses' backs, as bonny a pair as ever
thrilled an older woman's soul.

"Oh, Mrs. Vincent, we've had such a race!" cried Polly, smiling into
Mrs. Vincent's face with her irresistible smile.

"Isn't it good just to be alive on such a day?" smiled Peggy, turning to
her as she would have turned to Mrs. Harold, her face alight. Aunt
Katherine had been Peggy's only "wet blanket" and, it had not been
wrapped about her long enough to destroy her absolute confidence in
grown-ups. Perhaps Miss Sturgis would threaten it, but all that lay in
the future.

"And to be just fifteen with all the world before you, and such animals
beside you," answered Mrs. Vincent, stroking Tzaritza and nodding toward
the horses.

"Yes, aren't they just the dearest ever? Who could help loving them?"

"Will they stand like that without being tied?"

"Oh, yes, they have always obeyed me perfectly. I wish you could see Roy
and the others. Some day you must come out to Severndale, Mrs. Vincent,
and see my four-footed children. I've such a lot of them."

"Tell me something of your home and home-life, dear. We are not very
well acquainted, you know, and that is a poor beginning."

It was a subject dear to Peggy's heart, and she needed no urging. Seated
beside Mrs. Vincent, for half an hour she talked of her life at
Severndale, Polly's interjections supplying little side-lights which
Mrs. Vincent was quick to appreciate, though Polly did not realize how
they emphasized Peggy's picture of her home.

"And you really raised those splendid horses yourself? I have never seen
their equal."

"But if you only knew how wonderfully intelligent they are, Mrs.
Vincent! Of course, Silver Star is now Polly's horse, but she has
learned to understand him so perfectly, and ride so beautifully, that he
loves her as well as he loves me and obeys her as well."

For a moment or two Mrs. Vincent's face wore an odd expression.

"Understand" a horse? To be "loved" by one? Did she "understand" those
in her stable? Did they "love" her? She almost smiled. It was such a new
viewpoint. Yet, why not? The animals upon her place were certainly
entirely dependent upon her for their happiness and comfort. But had she
ever given that fact a serious thought?

Slipping an arm about each girl as they sat beside her she asked:

"What do you think of our horses, and of Dawson? For a little
fifteen-year old lassie you seem to have had a remarkable experience."

Peggy colored, but Polly blurted out:

"I think he's a regular old hypocrite and so does Peggy. Why, Shelby
would have forty fits if any of our horses' feet were like
Jack-o'-Lantern's, or their bits as dirty as the Senator's."

"Oh, Polly, please don't!" begged Peggy. But it was too late. "What is
this?" asked Mrs. Vincent quickly.

"Well, I dare say I've made a mess of the whole thing. I generally do,
but Peggy and I do love animals so and hate to see them abused."

"Are _ours_ abused, Polly?"

"I don't suppose that generally speaking people would say they were.
Most everybody would say they were mighty well cared for, but that's
because people don't stop to think a thing about it. My goodness, _I_
didn't till Peggy made me. A horse was just a horse to me--any old
horse--if he could pull a wagon or hold somebody on his back. That he
could actually _talk_ to me never entered my head. Have you ever seen
one _do_ it?" asked Polly, full of eager enthusiasm.

"I can't say that I ever have," smiled Mrs. Vincent, and Polly quickly
retorted, though there was no trace of disrespect in her words:

"Now you are laughing at us. I knew you would. Well, no wonder, most
people would think us crazy for saying such a thing. But truly, Mrs.
Vincent, we're not. Peggy, make Shashai and Star talk to you. I'd do it,
only I'd sort of feel as though I were taking the wind out of your
sails. You are the teacher and I'm only your pupil."

"Do you really wish me to show you something of their intelligence, Mrs.
Vincent? I feel sort of foolish--as though I were trying to show off,
you know."

"Well, you are _not_, and I've an idea that for a few moments we can
exchange places to good advantage. It looks as though I had spent a vast
deal of my time acquiring a knowledge of higher mathematics and modern
languages, at the expense of some understanding of natural history and
now I'll take a lesson, please."

"Of course I don't mean to say that every animal can be taught all the
things _our_ horses have learned any more than all children, can be
equally taught. You don't expect as much of the child who has been,
misused and neglected as you do of the one who has been raised properly
and always loved. It depends a whole lot on that. Our horses have never
known fear and so we can do almost anything with them. Shashai, Star,
come and make love to Missie."

As one the two beautiful creatures came to the seat and laid their soft
muzzles upon Peggy's shoulders. Then raising their heads ran their
velvety lips over her cheeks with as gentle, caressing a touch as a
little child's fingers could have given, all the time voicing the soft,
bubbling whinney of a trustful, happy horse. Peggy reached an arm about
each satiny head. After a moment she said:

"Attention!"

Back started both horses to stand as rigid as statues.

"Salute Mrs. Vincent."

Up went each splendid head and a clear, joyous neigh was trumpeted from
the delicate nostrils.

"Call Shelby!"

What an alert expression filled the splendid eyes as the horses,
actually a-quiver with excitement, neighed again, and again for the
friend whom they loved, and looked inquiringly at Peggy when he failed
to appear.

"Where's Jess?"

Eager, impatient snorts replied.

Peggy rose to her feet and carefully knotting, the reins upon the
saddles' pommels to safeguard accidents, said:

"Go fetch him!"

Tzaritza was alert in an instant. "No, not you, Tzaritza. Charge. Four
bells, Shashai,--Star!" and away swept the horses.

"Do you mean to say they understand and will really bring Jess here?"
asked Mrs. Vincent incredulously.

"Oh, yes, indeed. They have done so dozens of times at home."

"Well, they are wonders!"

The rapid hoofbeats were now dying away in the distance. Perhaps ten
minutes elapsed when their rhythmic beat was again audible, each second
growing more distinct, then down the linden-bordered avenue came Shashai
and Star, Jess riding Shashai. The horses moved as swiftly as birds fly.
As they caught sight of Peggy they neighed loudly as though asking her
approbation. A lump of sugar awaited each obedient animal, and Jess
asked:

"What yo' wantin' ob Jess, baby-honey?"

"Just to prove to Mrs. Vincent that the horses would bring you here if I
told them to."

"Co'se dey bring me if Miss Peggy bidden 'em to," answered Jess as
though surprised that she should ask such a needless question.

"But how did you know she wished you?"

"How'd I know, Mist'ss? Why dem hawses done _tol'_ me she want me. Yas'm
dey did. Dey done come t'arin' back yonder ter de stable an' dey cotch
holt ob my sleefs wid dey teefs, and dey yank and tug me 'long outen de
do'. Den dis hyer Shashai, he stan' lak a statyer twell I hike me up on
his back, den he kite away like de bery debbil--axes yo' pardon,
ma'am!--an' hyer we-all _is_. Dat's all de _how_ dar is ob it. _Dey_
knows what folks 'specs ob 'em. Dey's eddicated hawses. Dey's been
_raised_ right."

"I think they have been. Peggy, I want to walk back to the stables with
you and Polly. I'd like to see with my own eyes some of the things you
have spoken about."

"O Mrs. Vincent, I am so afraid it will make a whole lot of trouble!
Dawson knows I criticised him--indeed, I lost my temper and said he
couldn't 'hold down a job' at Severndale. Excuse the slang, please, but
he rubbed me the wrong way with all his fuss, when he really doesn't
know, or doesn't want to know--I don't know which--one thing about
horses."

Mrs. Vincent paused a moment. "Perhaps you are right," she said. "At all
events, your sense of justice seems to be one of your strong points. Go
back to the house and let Jess take your 'children' to the stables. A
little diplomacy can do no harm. And Jess, you need not mention seeing
me with the young ladies. Your little mistress has begun my _horse_
education. I haven't been very wise about them, I fear, but now I am
going to make amends."

"Yas'm. Amens does help we-all a powerful lot when we's wrastlin' wid
we-all's sperrits. I hopes dey fotch yo' froo yo' doubtin's. I'se done
had ter say many an amen in ma day."

Jess' face was full of solicitude. He had not the remotest idea of the
source of Mrs. Vincent's turmoil of spirit, but if she found it
necessary to say "amen," Jess instantly concluded that his sympathies
were demanded. At all events he was now a part of Columbia Heights and
all within it's precincts came within his kindly solicitude. Tradition
was strong in old Jessekiah. Mrs. Vincent had much ado to keep her
countenance. She had come to Washington from a Western city and had but
slight understanding of the real devotion of the old-time negro to his
"white folks." Alas! few of the old-time ones are left. It was with a
sense of still having considerable to learn that she parted from the
girls and Jess and made her way toward the stables, reaching there some
time after Jess had unsaddled his horses and was performing their
toilets with as much care as a French maid would bestow upon her
mistress, though no French maid would ever have kept up the incessant
flow of affectionate talk to the object of her attentions that Jess was
maintaining. He took no notice of Mrs. Vincent, but _she_ did not miss
one shadow or shade of the absolute understanding existing between Jess
and his "babies," as he called them.

"Dar now, honeys," he said, as he carefully blanketed them. "Run 'long
back yander to yo' boxes. Yo' dinner's all a-ready an' a-waitin', lak de
hymn chune say, an' yo's ready fo' it. Dem children ain' never gwine
send yo' back to de stable, so het up, yo' cyant eat er drink fo' an
hour. No siree! Not _dem_."

At that moment Dawson and his assistant appeared with the horses the
girls had ridden. Notwithstanding the cool crispness of the morning,
Lady Belle was in a lather where her harness rested. The Senator was
blowing like a grampus; Jack-o'-Lantern's bit was foam-flecked and
Natalie's pretty little "Madam Goldie" looked fagged.

Mrs. Vincent instantly contrasted the condition of Shashai and Star with
the others. Yet Peggy and Polly had been riding like Valkyrie.

As Dawson espied the lady of the manor his face underwent a change which
would have been amusing had it not been entirely too significant. Mrs.
Vincent made no comments whatever concerning the horses but a veil had
certainly fallen from her eyes. She asked Dawson how his young ladies
were coming on with their riding lessons, how many had arranged to ride
in the park that afternoon, and one or two trivial questions. Then she
returned to the house a much wiser woman than she had left it an hour
earlier.



CHAPTER X

TZARITZA AS DISCIPLINARIAN


Several days had passed since the riding lesson. It was Saturday evening
and study period, which began at five and lasted until six-thirty, was
ended. Dinner was served at seven on Saturdays and from eight until ten
o'clock the girls were perfectly free. A group was gathered in Stella
Drummond's big room and preparations for a fudge party, after the hearty
dinner had "somewhat shaken down," were under way. Stella's chafing dish
was the most up-to-date one in the school, and Stella's larder more
bountifully supplied than the other girls. Indeed, Stella never lacked
for anything so far as the others could discover and had a more liberal
supply of pocket money than is generally allowed. Mrs. Vincent had
expressed doubts as to the wisdom of it when Stella's father mentioned
the sum she was to have, but he had laughed and answered:

"Oh, nonsense, my dear Madam! At home she would have double if she
wished it. She knows how to use it, and remember she is all I have to
spend my income upon. Don't let that little matter worry you. Just give
all your attention to polishing her up a bit and teaching her the newest
fol-de-rols. Living all over the country is not the best thing for a
young lady, I have found out. It may be conducive to physical
development, but it leaves something to be desired in educational
lines."

So Stella, though eighteen, and supposed to be a senior, was really
taking a special course in which junior work predominated. She had
selected her own room, it had been furnished exactly as she wished, and
it certainly resembled a bridal apartment more than a school-girl's
bed-room. A large alcove and private bath opened from it, and a balcony
which commanded a beautiful view of Stony Brook Park made it luxurious
to a degree. In this room, lighted by softly shaded electric drop
lights, a cheery log fire blazing upon the shining brass andirons, the
girls had gathered. Stella was arranging her electric chafing dish upon
its little marble stand. Peggy was opening a box of shelled pecan nuts,
Polly measuring out the chocolate, and the other girls were supplying
all needful, or needless, advice concerning the _modus operandi_.
Tzaritza, now a most privileged creature indeed, had stretched her huge
length before the hearth, looking for all the world like a superb white
rug, and Rosalie Breeze was flat upon her stomach, her arms around the
dog's neck, her face nestled in the silky hair. Juno Gibson reclined
gracefully in a luxurious wicker chair, its gorgeous pink satin cushions
a perfect background for her dark loveliness--which no one understood
better than Juno herself. Helen Doolittle (most aptly named) was gazing
in simpering adoration upon Stella from a pillow-laden couch, and now
commented:

"Oh, Stella, what adorable hands you have. How do you keep them so
ravishingly white and your nails so absolutely faultless? I could cover
them with kisses, sweetheart."

Stella's laugh held wholesome ridicule of this rhapsody and she replied:

"Don't waste your emotion upon _my_ hands. Just save it until somebody
comes along who wished to cover _your_ hands with kisses--I mean some
one in masculine attire. For my part, I don't think I'd care to have a
girl try that experiment with me."

"Have you ever had a _boy_ cover your hands with kisses?" asked Helen
eagerly, starting from her position.

Stella, raised her head, looked at the simple, inconsequent, little
doll-faced blonde and with an odd smile said:

"Well, I could hardly have called him a boy."

"Oh, was he a man? A real _man_? Did he wear a moustache? Just think,
girls, of having a man's moustache brush the back of your hand as he
covered it with kisses. Oh, how terribly thrilling. Do tell us all about
it, Stella! I knew the moment I met you you must have had a romantic
history. Did your father find it out, and what did he say?"

"Yes, I told him all about it and he laughed at me," and again Stella
laughed her mystifying laugh.

"Oh, I'd just _adore_ having such a ravishing experience as that," said
Lily Pearl Montgomery from the window seat, "but how can one have any
thrilling experiences in a stupid old school! Now there are Polly and
Peggy; think of all they could tell us if they only would. You girls
must be fairly bursting with the most wonderful stories if you'd only
come down off your pedestals and tell us. _I_ think you're both too
tight for words. And all those darling cadets' photographs in your room.
You needn't try to make _me_ believe that 'Faithfully yours, Bubbles'
and 'Your chum, Ralph,' and 'For my Pilot, Captain Polly, Wheedles,' and
'For Peggy Stewart, Chatelaine, Happy,' don't mean a whole lot more."

"What's that?" asked Peggy, catching her name and looking up from her
occupation. She caught Polly's eyes which had begun to snap. Polly had
also been too busy to pay much attention at first, but she had heard the
concluding sentences. She turned and looked at Lily with exactly the
expression upon her sixteen-year-old face which had overspread it years
before when the thirteen-year-old Polly had surprised the sentimental
"Thusan Thwingle" exchanging osculatory favors with "one of thothe
horrid boyths" in the basement of the high school at Montgentian. Then
she said with repressed vehemence:

"I only wish our boys could have heard you say that. If you wouldn't
come in for the running of your life my name's not Polly Howland. You'd
suit some of the boys back yonder, but not our bunch. Of all the hot
air! Stella, is your chafing-dish ready?"

Peggy had colored a rosy pink. She lacked Polly's experience with other
girls.

Piqued by Polly's superior rebuff, Helen came to the inane Lily Pearl's
support in a manner she knew would hit loyal Polly's most vulnerable
spot:

"Look at Peggy's face! Look at Peggy's face! Which is the particular He,
Peggy? Polly may be able to put up a big bluff, but your face is a dead
giveaway."

"I don't think you would be able to understand if I told you. Middie's
Haven and the 'bunch' are just a degree too high up for you to reach,
I'm afraid, and there's no elevator in Wilmot Hall," answered Peggy
quietly.

Polly laid down the things she was holding for Stella, dusted her hands
of chocolate crumbs by lightly rubbing her fingers together, and walked
quietly over to the couch. Helen looked somewhat alarmed and drew back
among her pillows.

Polly, never uttering one word, bent over, swooped up Helen, pillows and
all and holding her burden as she would have held a struggling baby,
walked straight out of the room and down, the corridor to her own room,
the shouts, screams and laughs of the girls following her. Helen was
absolutely speechless at the audacity of the act. Bumping her door
together by the only available means left her, since both arms were
occupied, Polly then plumped Helen, now almost ready to resort to
hysterical tears, upon a wooden shirt-waist box and placing herself in
front of her, struck the attitude of a little red-headed goddess of
vengeance as she said:

"Helen Doolittle, you may run _me_ all you've a mind to--it doesn't mean
a thing to me; I'm used to it; I've been teased all my life and I'm
bomb-proof. But Peggy Stewart's made of different stuff. She hasn't been
with girls very much, and never with a _silly_ one before. Give her
time and she'll understand them a good sight better than they'll ever
understand her. And the boys she has known are not the kind who are ever
likely to want to know _you_. So there's not much use wasting time
explaining things. But I tell you just this, I won't stand for Peggy
being run even a little bit, and you can circulate that bit of
information broadcast. She's the finest ever, and the girl who can call
her friend is in luck up to her ears. So understand: let her alone or
reckon with me."

"Do you think we are a lot of crazy schoolboys and expect to settle our
disagreements with a regular fist-a-cuff bout? You must come from a very
queer place."

"Where _I_ come from doesn't matter in the least. Peggy is the one under
discussion and you know where she comes from and who she is. _What_ she
is you'll never know."

"I don't see why she should be so very hard to understand."

"She isn't--for people with enough sense. Now just take one good look at
those pictures. Is there a weak face among them? One of two things will
happen to you if you ever happen to meet the originals: they'll either
make you feel like a silly little kid or they won't take a bit of
notice of you. It will depend upon how you happen to strike them."

"Oh, are they such, wonders as all that?"

"If you ever get an invitation down to Annapolis you'll have a chance to
find out. Peggy and I have about made up our minds to have a house party
during the holidays, but we haven't quite made up our minds which girls
we are going to like well enough to ask to it. Tanta suggested it. She
is anxious to know our friends, and we are anxious to have her. She
sizes people up pretty quickly and we are always mighty glad to have her
opinion."

Polly spoke rapidly and the effect upon Helen was peculiar. From the
pugnacious attitude of an outraged canary, ready to do battle, she was
transformed into the sweetest, meekest love-bird imaginable. A veritable
little preening, posing, oh-do-admire-me creature, and at Polly's last
words she jumped from the box and clasping her hands, cried:

"A house-party! You are planning a house-party? Oh, how perfectly
adorable. Oh, which girls are you going to invite? Oh, I'll never, never
tease Peggy again as long as I live. I'll be perfectly lovely to her and
I'll make the other girls be nice too. To think of going up there and
meeting all those darling boys. Oh please tell me all about it! The
girls will be just crazy when I tell them. Which of these fellows will
be there?"

Helen had rushed over to Polly's dresser upon which in pretty silver
frames were photographs of Ralph, Happy and Wheedles. On Peggy's dresser
Shorty and Durand looked from their frames straight into her eyes, while
several others not yet framed looked down from the top of the bookshelf.
Silly little Helen was in an ecstasy. Her mamma had never believed in
companions of the opposite sex for her "sweet little daughter" but had
kept her in a figurative preserve jar which bore the label "you may look
but you must not touch." Mamma's instructions to Mrs. Vincent upon
placing Helen in the school had been an absolute ban upon any masculine
visitors, or visits upon Helen's part where such undesirable, though
often unavoidable, members of society might congregate. "She is so very
innocent and unsophisticated, you know, and so very young," added mamma
sweetly. Mrs. Vincent smiled indulgently, but made no comments: She had
encountered such mammas and such sweetly unsophisticated daughters
before and she then and there resolved to keep an extra watchful eye
upon this innocent one. Thus far, however, nothing alarming had
occurred, but Mrs. Vincent knew her material and was prepared for
almost anything. She also knew Lily Pearl and felt pretty sure that if
an upheaval ever took place it would turn out that Lily Pearl or Helen
had touched off the mine. The foregoing scene gives some hint of the
viewpoints of the young ladies in question.

During this digression Helen had caught up Wheedle's picture and was
pressing it rapturously to her fluttering bosom and exclaiming:

"You're a perfect darling! If I could have just one dance with _you_ I'd
be willing to _die_! Polly, how old is he!"

But Polly had left the room and was on her way back to Stella's. As she
reached it she came face to face with the Sturgeon and the Sturgeon's
eyes held no "lovelight" for her.

"Miss Howland, what was the cause of the wild shrieks which disturbed me
a moment since? Miss Montgomery says you can tell if you will and since
none of your companions seem inclined to do so, I will hear your
explanation. I was on my way to inform Miss Stewart that Mrs. Vincent
wished to see her in her study at once when this hideous uproar assailed
my ears."

Polly glanced quickly about the room. Sure enough, Peggy had left it.
Some of the girls looked concerned, others quite calm; among the latter
were Stella and Juno. Rosalie, with Tzaritza's head in her lap, looked
defiant. She hated Miss Sturgis.

Polly turned and looked squarely into Miss Sturgis' eyes.

"The girls were screaming because I carried Helen out of the room," she
answered quietly.

"It seems to me you must be somewhat in need of exercise. I would advise
you to go to the gymnasium to work off your superfluous energy. Why did
you carry Helen from the room? Has she become incapable of voluntary
locomotion?"

"Not yet," answered Polly, a twinkle coming into a corner of the gray
eyes.

"_Not yet?_" emphasized Miss Sturgis. "Are you apprehensive of her
becoming so?"

"She needs more exercise than she gets," answered Polly, half smiling.

That smile acted as salt upon a wound. Miss Sturgis' temper rose.

"Please bear in mind that it does not devolve upon _you_ to decide that
question."

"I did not try to settle that question, Miss Sturgis. If you wish to
know why I carried Helen out of the room I did it because she was
running--"

"Doing what? I don't think I understand your boyish slang."

"Well, teasing Peggy, and I won't have Peggy teased by anybody if I can
stop it. She doesn't understand girls' ways as well as I do because she
hasn't been thrown with them. So when Helen teased her I picked her up
and carried her down to our room and I don't reckon she will tease her
any more."

"So you have come into the school to set its standards and correct its
shortcomings, have you? Are you so very superior to your companions--you
and your protégée?"

Polly looked straight into the narrow eyes looking at her, but made no
reply.

"Answer me, instantly."

"I have never considered myself superior to anyone, but I _do_ consider
Peggy Stewart superior to any girl I have ever known, and I think you
will agree with me when you know her better," asserted Polly loyally.

"You are insolent."

"I do not mean to be. Any one who knows her will tell you the same
thing."

"I repeat you are insolent and you may go to your room."

Polly made no reply, but started to leave the room. Tzaritza sprang to
her side. Miss Sturgis interposed.

"Leave that dog where she is. Go back, you horrible beast," and she
raised her hand menacingly. Tzaritza was not quite sure whether the
menace was intended for Polly or herself. In either case it was cause
for resentment and a low growl warned against further liberties.

"Be careful, Miss Sturgis. Tzaritza thinks you are threatening me," said
Polly. It was said wholly in the interest of the teacher.

Miss Sturgis' early training and forebears had not been of an order to
develop either great dignity, or self-control. Her ability to teach
mathematics was undisputed. Hence her position in Mrs. Vincent's school,
though that good lady had more than once had reason to question the
wisdom of retaining her, owing to the influence which she exerted over
her charges. The grain beneath did not lend itself to a permanent, or
high polish, and it took only the slightest scratch to mar it. Polly's
words seemed to destroy her last remnant of self-control and she turned
upon her in a fury of rage. As she seized her by the arm and cried,
"Silence!" Polly whirled from her like a flash crying, "Charge,
Tzaritza!"

But it was too late, the 'hound had sprung to Polly's defense, only it
was Polly's protecting arm into which Tzaritza's teeth sank. The girl
turned white with pain. Instantly the beautiful dog relinquished her
hold and whining and whimpering like a heartbroken thing began to lick
the bruised arm. Then arose a hubbub compared to which the screams of
which Miss Sturgis had complained had been infantile plaints. Lily Pearl
promptly went into hysterics. Juno shrieked aloud and even the
self-contained Stella cried out as she ran to catch Polly in her arms,
for the girl seemed about to faint. But Miss Sturgis, now thoroughly
terrified at the crisis she had brought to pass, called madly for help.
Helen's screams mingled in the pandemonium, for Helen had been brought
hack from her romantic air castle with a rush.

Notwithstanding the fact that Mrs. Vincent's study was down one flight
of stairs and at the other end of the building, she became aware of the
uproar and her conversation with Peggy came to an abrupt pause. Then
both hurried into the hall to see the tails of Horatio Hannibal
Harrison's coat vanishing up the broad stairway and to hear Fräulein
Hedwig wailing, "Oh ze house iss burning up _and_ down I am sure!"

Meanwhile upon the scene of action Polly had been the first to recover
her wits. The skin had not been broken, for Tzaritza had instantly
perceived her error and released her grip almost as soon as it was
taken. But Miss Sturgis would not have escaped so easily, as well she
knew, and her hatred for Tzaritza increased tenfold. When Mrs. Vincent
and the others arrived upon the scene she broke into a perfect torrent
of invective against the dog, but was brought to her senses by the
Principal's quiet:

"Miss Sturgis, you seem to be a good deal overwrought. I will excuse
you. You may retire to your room until you feel calmer."

"Let me explain! Let me tell you what a horrible thing has happened!"
cried Miss Sturgis.

"When you are less excited I shall be glad to listen. Fräulein, kindly
accompany Miss Sturgis to her room and call the housekeeper. Now, Polly,
what is it?" asked Mrs. Vincent, for Polly was the center of the group
of excited girls, though calmer than any of them.

"Tzaritza made a mistake and caught my arm in her teeth, that is all,
Mrs. Vincent. But she has done no harm. It doesn't hurt much now; she
did not mean to do it any way."

"What!" cried Peggy, aghast, "Tzaritza attacked _you_, Polly?"

Polly nodded her head in quick negative, striving to keep Peggy from
saying more. But Tzaritza had crawled to Peggy's feet and was literally
grovelling there in abject misery.

"Charge, Tzaritza!"

The splendid creature lay motionless. "Polly, what happened?' demanded
Peggy, once more the Peggy of Severndale and entirely forgetful of her
present surroundings. Mrs. Vincent smiled and laying her hand gently
upon Peggy's arm said:

"Don't embarrass Polly, dear. Leave it to me."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Vincent. I forgot," answered Peggy,
blushing deeply. Mrs. Vincent nodded forgiveness, then turning to
Stella, asked:

"Were you here all the time, Stella?"

"Yes, Mrs. Vincent."

"Then please tell me exactly what happened."

Stella told the story clearly and quietly. When she ended there was a
moment's hush, broken by Rosalie Breeze crying:

"And Tzaritza never, never would have done a single thing if Miss
Sturgis hadn't lost her temper. She is forever scolding us about losing
ours, but she'd just better watch out herself. I wish Tzaritza had
bitten her!"

"Rosalie!"

"Well, I do, Mrs. Vincent. It was every bit her own fault. She hates
Tzaritza, and I love her," was Rosalie's vehement if perplexing
conclusion as she cast herself upon the big dog. Tzaritza welcomed her
with a grateful whine and crept closer, though she never raised her
head. She was waiting the word of forgiveness from the one she loved
best of all, but Peggy was awaiting Tzaritza's exoneration. Mrs.
Vincent, who had sent for the resident trained nurse, was examining
Polly's arm and now said:

"It is all very distressing, but I am glad no more serious for Polly.
The arm is badly bruised and will be very painful for some time, but I
can't discover a scratch. Miss Allen, will you please look after this
little girl," she asked, as the sweet-faced trained nurse entered the
room, her white uniform snowy and immaculate, her face a benediction in
its sweet, calm repose.

"Go with Miss Allen, dear, and have your arm dressed." Polly paused only
long enough to stoop down and kiss Tzaritza's head, the caress being
acknowledged by a pathetic whine, then followed the nurse from the room.

Peggy was terribly distressed.

"Do you think I would better send her back to Severndale, Mrs. Vincent?"
she asked.

"Has she ever attacked anyone before, Peggy?"

"Never in all her life."

"I hardly think she will again. She may remain. Come here, Tzaritza."

Tzaritza did not stir.

"Up, Tzaritza," commanded Peggy, and the affectionate creature's feet
were upon her shoulders as she begged forgiveness with almost human
eloquence.

"Oh, my bonny one, how could you?" asked Peggy as she caressed the silky
head. Tzaritza's whimpers reduced some of the girls to tears. "Now go to
Mrs. Vincent," ordered Peggy, and the hound obediently crossed the room
to lay her head in that lady's lap.

"Poor Tzaritza, you did what you believed to be your duty, didn't you?
None of us can do more. I wish some of my other problems were as easy to
solve as the motives of your act. Go on with your fudge party, girls. It
will prove a diversion. I must look to other matters now," and Mrs.
Vincent sighed at the prospect of the coming interview with Miss
Sturgis. It was not her first experience by any means.



CHAPTER XI

BEHIND SCENES


The girls were hardly in a mood to return to their fudge-making, so
Stella produced a box of Whitman's chocolates and the group settled down
to eat them and discuss the events of the past exciting half hour. Polly
squatted upon the rug and with her uninjured arm hauled about half of
Tzaritza upon her lap. Tzaritza was positively foolish in her ecstatic
joy at being restored to favor.

"Poor Tzaritza, you got into trouble because I lost my temper, didn't
you? It was a heap more my fault than yours after all."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with Tzaritza. It's the Sturgeon. Hateful old
thing! I just hope Mrs. Vincent gives her bally-hack," stormed Rosalie.
"Suppose we did shout and screech? It's Saturday night and we have a
right to if we like. But what under the sun did Mrs. Vincent want of
you, Peggy?"

"Oh, nothing very serious," answered Peggy, smiling in a way which set
Rosalie's curiosity a-galloping.

"Yes, what _did_ she want?" demanded Polly, turning to look up at Peggy.

"Can't tell anybody _now_. You'll all know after Thanksgiving," answered
Peggy, wagging her head in the negative.

"Oh, please tell us! Ah, do! We won't breathe a living, single word!"
cried the chorus.

"Uh-mh!" murmured Peggy in such perfect imitation of old Mammy that
Polly laughed outright.

"Aren't you even going to tell Polly?" asked Rosalie, who had arrived at
some very definite conclusion regarding these friends, for Rosalie was
far from slow if at times rather more self-assertive than the average
young lady is supposed to be.

For answer Peggy broke into a little air from a popular comic opera
running just then in Washington and to which Captain Stewart had taken
his little party only a few weeks before:

"And what is right for Tweedle-dum is wrong for Tweedle-dee," sang Peggy
in her sweet contralto voice, Polly following in her bird-like whistle.

The little ruse worked to perfection. The girls forgot all about Peggy's
"call down," as a summons to Mrs. Vincent's study was banned, and had a
rapture over Polly's whistling and Peggy's singing, nor were they
satisfied until a dozen airs had been given in the girl's very best
style. Then came the story of the concerts at home, and Polly's
whistling at the Masquerader's Show when Wharton Van Nostrand fell ill,
and a dozen other vivid little glimpses of the life back in Severndale
and up in "Middie's Haven" until their listeners were nearly wild with
excitement.

"And they are to have a house party there during the holidays, girls.
Think of that!" cried Helen.

"Honest?" cried Lily Pearl, leaning forward with clasped hands, while
even Juno, the superior, became animated and remarked:

"Really! I dare say you will choose your guests with extreme care as to
their appeal to the model young men they are likely to meet at
Annapolis, for I don't doubt your aunt, Mrs. Harold, is a most
punctilious chaperon."

"Juno's been eating hunks of the new Webster's Dictionary, girls. That's
how she happens to have all those long words so near the top. They got
stuck going down so they come up easy," interjected Rosalie.

Juno merely tossed her head, but vouchsafed no answer. Rosalie's Western
_gaucherie_ was beneath her notice. Juno's home was at the Hotel Astor
in New York City. At least as much of "home" as she knew. Her mother
had lived abroad for the past five years, and was now the Princess
Somebody-or-other. Her father kept his suite at the Astor but lived
almost anywhere else, his only daughter seeing him when he had less
enticing companionship. A "chaperon" did duty at the Astor when Juno was
in the city, which was not often. Consequently, Juno's ideas of domestic
felicity were not wholly edifying; her conception of anything pertaining
to home life about as hazy as the nebula.

"Perhaps if you ever know Tanta you'll be able to form your own
opinion," answered Polly quietly, looking steadily at Juno with those
wonderfully penetrating gray eyes until the girl shrugged and colored.

Stella laughed a low, odd little laugh and came over to drop upon the
rug beside Polly, saying as she slipped her arm around her and
good-naturedly dragged her down upon her lap:

"You are one funny, old-fashioned little kid, do you know that? Some
times I feel as though I were about twenty years your senior, and then
when I catch that size-me-up, read-me-through, look in your eyes, I make
up my mind _I'm_ the infant--not you. Where did you and Peggy catch and
bottle up all your worldly wisdom?"

"Didn't know _I_ had so much," laughed Polly, "but Peggy was born with
hers, I reckon. If I have any it has been bumped into my head partly by
mother, partly by Aunt Janet, and the job finished by the boys Juno has
been referring to. It doesn't do to try any nonsense with _that_ bunch;
they see through you and call your bluff as quick as a flash. We were
pretty good chums and I miss them more than I could ever miss a lot of
girls, I believe. Certainly, more than I missed the Montgentian girls
when I left them."

"Nothing like being entirely frank, I'm sure," was Juno's superior
remark:

"That's another thing the boys taught us," replied Polly imperturbably.
Just then the bell rang for "rooms."

"There's Tattoo!" cried Polly. "If I get settled down at Taps tonight
I'll be doing wonders. Miss Allen has bandaged up my arm as though
Tzaritza had bitten half of it off. Come on, 'Ritza. Peggy, you'll have
to get me out of my dudds tonight. Good-night, girls. Sorry we didn't
get our fudge made. Maybe if I'd let Helen alone you would have had it,"
and with a merry laugh Polly ran from the room, all animosity forgotten.

"What did she mean by 'Tattoo' and 'Taps,'" asked Natalie of Peggy.

"The warning call sounded on the bugle for the midshipmen to go to their
rooms, and the lights out call which follows. Have you never heard
them? They are so pretty. Polly and I love them so, and you can't think
how we miss them here. Polly always sounded them on her bugle at home.
You've no idea how sweetly she can do it," answered Peggy as she walked
toward her room beside Natalie.

"Oh, I wish I _could_ hear them. I wonder if mother knows anything about
them," cried Natalie enthusiastically. "Do you know, I think you and
Polly are perfectly wonderful, you have so many original ideas. I am
just crazy to know what mother wanted of you tonight. I'm going to ask
her. Do you think she will tell me?"

"Why not? The only reason I did not tell was because I felt I had no
right to. If Mrs. Vincent wants the others to know she will tell them,
but you are different. I reckon mothers can't keep anything from their
own daughters. At least Polly and her mother seem to share everything
and I know Mrs. Harold is just like a mother to me."

The girls separated and Peggy and Polly were soon behind closed doors
discussing Mrs. Vincent's private interview with the former.

The following Tuesday was Hallow E'en and where is your school-girl who
does not revel in its privileges? Mrs. Vincent, contrary to Miss
Sturgis' preconceived ideas of what was possible and proper for a girls'
school, though the latter never failed to quote the rigid discipline of
the school which had profited by her valuable services prior to her
engagement at Columbia Heights, was given to some departures which often
came near reducing Miss Sturgis to tears of vexation.

One of these rules, or rather the lack of them, was the arrangement of
the tables in the two dining-rooms. In the dining-room for the little
girls under twelve a teacher presided at each table as a matter of
course, but in the main dining-hall covers were laid for six at each
table, one of the girls presiding as hostess, her tenure of office
depending wholly upon her standing in the school, her deportment,
ability and general average of work. At the further end of the room Mrs.
Vincent's own table was placed, and the staff of eight resident teachers
sat with her. It was a far happier arrangement than the usual one of
placing a teacher at each table and having her, whether consciously or
unconsciously, arrogate the entire conversation, interests and viewpoint
to herself. Of course, there are some teachers who can still recall with
sufficient vividness their own school-girl life to feel keenly the
undercurrent of restraint which an older person almost invariably
starts when thrown with a group of younger ones, and who possesses the
power and tact to overcome it and enter the girl-world. But these are
the exceptions rather than the rule, and none knew this better than Mrs.
Vincent. Consequently, she chose her own way of removing all possible
danger of impaired digestion, believing that the best possible aid to
healthy appetites and perfectly assimilated food were untrammeled
spirits and hearty laughs. So she and her staff sat at their own table
where they were free to discuss the entire school if they chose to do
so, and the girls--for, surely, "turn-about-is-fairplay"--could discuss
them. It worked pretty well, too, in spite of Miss Sturgis' inclination
to keep one eye and one ear "batted" toward the other tables, often to
Mrs. Vincent's intense, though carefully concealed amusement.

And now came Hallow E'en, and with small regard for Miss Sturgis'
prejudices, plump in the middle of the school week! At the end of the
last recitation period that afternoon when the whole school of one
hundred fifty girls, big and little, had gathered in the chapel, for the
working day invariably ended with a few kindly helpful words spoken by
Mrs. Vincent and the reading of the thirty-fourth Psalm and singing
Shelley's beautiful hymn of praise, Mrs. Vincent paused for a moment
before dismissing her pupils. Many of the older girls knew what to
expect, but the newer ones began to wonder if their sins had found them
out. Nevertheless, Mrs. Vincent's expression was not alarming as she
moved a step toward them and asked:

"Which of my girls will be willing to give up her afternoon recreation
period and devote that time to the preparation of tomorrow's work!"

The effect was amusing. Some of the girls gave little gasps of surprise,
others, ohs! of protest, others distinct negatives, while a good many
seemed delighted at the prospect. These had known Mrs. Vincent longest.

"Those of you who are ready to return to the main hall at four o'clock
and work until five-thirty may be released from all further obligations
for the evening, and the attic, laundry and gymnasium will be placed at
your disposal for a Hallow E'en frolic and--"

But she got no further. Rosalie Breeze, sans ceremony, made one wild
leap from her chair and rushed toward the platform. Miss Sturgis made a
peremptory motion and stepped toward her, but Mrs. Vincent raised her
hand. The next second Rosalie had flung herself bodily into Mrs.
Vincent's arms, crying:

"Oh, if every schoolmarm was just exactly like _you_ I'd never, never do
one single bad thing to plague 'em and I'll let you use me for your
doormat if you want to!"

A less self-contained woman would have been staggered by the sudden
onslaught and felt her rule and dignity jeopardized. Mrs. Vincent was of
different fibre. She gathered the little madcap into her arms for one
second, then taking the witch-like face in both hands kissed each
flushed cheek as she said:

"I sometimes think you claim kinship with the pixies,--you are half a
witch. So you accept the bargain? Good! Have all the fun you wish but
don't burn the house down."

By this time the whole school had gathered around her, asking questions
forty to the minute.

Mrs. Vincent looked like a fly-away girl herself in her sympathetic
excitement, for her soft, curly chestnut hair had somewhat escaped its
combs and pins, and her cheeks were as rosy as the girls. Mrs. Vincent
was only forty, and now looked about half her age.

Polly and Peggy crowded close to her, Natalie shared her arms with
Rosalie, quiet, undemonstrative Marjorie's face glowed with affection,
while even Juno condescended to unbend, and Lily Pearl and Helen gave
vent to their emotions by embracing each other. Stella, tall, stately
and such a contrast to the others, beamed upon the group.

But Isabel put the finishing stroke by remarking with, a most superior
smile:

"O Mrs. Vincent, what a perfect darling you are! Don't you perfectly
dote on her girls? _I_ fell in love with her years ago when I first met
her and I've simply worshiped at her shrine ever since."

"Rats!" broke out Rosalie, and Mrs. Vincent had just about all she could
manage for a moment. Her emotions were sadly at odds. Polly's laugh
saved the day and deflected Isabel's scorn.

"I really do not see what is amusing you, Miss Howland; I am sure I am
only expressing the sentiments of my better poised schoolmates."

"Oh, we all agree with you--every single one of us--though we are
choosing different ways of showing it, you see. If Peggy and I had been
down home we'd probably have given the Four-N yell. That's _our_ way of
expressing our approbation. The boys taught us, and we think its a
pretty good way. It works off a whole lot of pent-up steam."

"What is it, Polly?" asked Mrs. Vincent.

"I'm afraid you would have to hear the boys give it to quite understand
it, Mrs. Vincent, but I tell you it makes one tingle right down to
one's very toes--that yell!"

"Can't you and Peggy give it to us on a small scale? Just as a sample of
what we may hear some day? Perhaps if the girls hear it they can fall
in. I'd like to hear it myself."

Polly paused a moment, looking doubtfully at Peggy. That old Naval
Academy Yell meant a good deal to these two girls. They had heard it
under so many thrilling circumstances.

"We will give it if you wish it, Mrs. Vincent, though it will sound
funny I'm afraid from just Polly and me. Maybe though, the girls will
try it too after we have given it."

With more volume and enthusiasm than would have seemed possible from
just two throats, Peggy and Polly began:

                               "N--n--n--n!
                                A--a--a--a!
                                V--v--v--v!
                                Y--y--y--y!
                           Navy! Navy! Navy! Navy!
                  Mrs. Vincent! Mrs. Vincent! Mrs. Vincent!"

the ending being entirely in the nature of a surprise to that lady who
blushed and laughed like a girl. But before she could escape, Polly had
sprung to the platform and as a cheer leader who would have put Wheedler
of old to shame was crying: "Come on!"

The girls caught the spirit and swing with a will and the room rang to
their voices.

Clapping her hands and laughing happily Mrs. Vincent ran toward the door
only pausing long enough to say:

"Four P. M. sharp! Then from seven to ten 'the
goblins will get you if you don't watch out!'"

"Let Polly sound 'Assembly' at four. Please do, Mrs. Vincent. It will
make us come double time," begged Peggy, running after her and detaining
her by slipping her arm about her waist.

"Assembly? I don't believe I quite understand."

"On her bugle, you know. It's so pretty, and we did that way at home if
we wanted to bring the bunch together in a hurry."

"Well, I'm learning something new every minute, I believe. Yes, sound
your bugle call, Polly, and be sure I shall be on the _qui vive_ to hear
it. Before we know it we shall have a _girls'_ military school."

"Oh, wouldn't it be perfectly splendid if we only could and all wear
brass buttons!" cried Rosalie.

"I think some of the discipline would be splendid for all of us, and
especially the spirit of the thing," answered Stella. "The trouble with
most girls lies in the fact that they don't know how to work together.
There isn't much class spirit, or coöperation. Maybe if we tried some of
the methods Peggy and Polly seem to know so much about we'd come closer
together."

"Team work, I guess you mean," said Polly quickly. "It means a whole
lot."

Sharply at four the staccato notes of "Assembly" rang across the terrace
as Polly sounded the call upon her bugle. The girls came hurrying from
every direction and the ensuing hour and a half, usually free for
recreation, was cheerfully given over to study. Dinner was served at six
and at seven-thirty the revels began.

At Peggy's suggestion a part of the afternoon had been devoted to
devising costumes out of anything at hand, for a fancy dress party had
been hastily decided upon. As a result of this some unique and original
Hallow E'en sprites, nymphs, dryads or witches foregathered in the big
laundry, "cleared for action," Polly said, and two or three aroused
little cries of admiration.

Peggy was a dryad. She had rushed away to the woods on Shashai to return
with her mount buried from sight in autumn leaves. The dark, rich reds
of the oaks, the deep yellow of the beeches, the dogwood's and maple's
gorgeous variations and the sweet-gums blood red mingled in a
bewildering confusion of color. Stripping the leaves from the twigs she
proceeded to sew them upon a plain linen gown, and the result was
exquisite, for not a vestige of the fabric remained visible, and Peggy's
piquant, rich coloring peeped from a garment of living, burning color.
She herself was the only one who did not fully appreciate the picture
she presented.

Polly's costume was a character from one of the children's pages in a
Sunday newspaper. The entire costume was made of newspapers, with "The
Yellow Kid" much in evidence, Polly's tawny hair lending itself well to
the color scheme.

Natalie, who was fair as a lily, had chosen "sunlight," and was a bonny
little sun goddess. Lily Pearl, after a great deal of fuss and fidgeting
had elected to go as Titania, and Helen essayed Oberon. Juno, who was
very musical, made quite a stately Sappho. Little, sedate Marjorie was
an Alaskan-Indian Princess, and Rosalie rigged up a Puck costume which
made her irresistible. Isabel chose to be Portia, though that erudite
lady seemed somewhat out of place among the mythological characters. But
Stella was a startling Sibyl, with book, staff, and a little crystal
globe (removed from her paper-weight) in which to read horoscopes. The
others went in all sorts of guises or disguises.

In the laundry they found all properties provided. To tell of all which
took place would crowd out too much which must follow. Of course apples
were bobbed for, a hat pin was run through them to prod the seeds for
the true lover's heart, and they were hung upon strings to be caught in
one's teeth (the apples, _not_ the hearts) if luckily one did not get
one's nose bumped as they swung back. Melted lead was poured through a
key into cold water to take the mysterious form which would reveal the
occupation, or profession, of the future _He_, and Lily Pearl was thrown
into an ecstasy by having _her_ sputtering metal take very distinctly
the form of a ship. _And that house party "bid" not even hinted at yet!_

They walked downstairs backward, looking into a mirror to discover the
particular masculine face which would fill their live's mirrors, though,
unhappily some of the potency of the charm was lost because it could not
be done upon the witching stroke of midnight.

Dumb cakes were made, _his_ initials pricked in the dough, while in
perfect silence the cakes were baked on the laundry steam dryer, joy and
rapture descending upon the fortunate she if the initials did not vanish
in the baking. A ball of twine was thrown out of the kitchen window,
but when the thrower hurried out to find the ardent one who had so
promptly snatched it up and fled, she discovered Horatio Hannibal
Harrison beating a hasty retreat. He had been playing "Peeping Tom" and
the ball had caught him squarely upon his woolly crown. A doubtful
conscience did the rest.

A dozen other tests followed until the girls' occult knowledge reached
the limit. Then they danced in the Gym to music furnished by Mrs.
Vincent, who ended the prancing by sending in a huge "fate cake," a big
basket of nuts, a jug of sweet cider and some of Aunt Hippy's cookies.

Cutting the fate cake ended the Hallow E'en frolic. Lily Pearl was
thrown into a flutter by finding the ring in her slice. Juno turned
scornful when a plump raisin fell to her share, Helen drew a tiny key
from her piece, and the coin dropped into Rosalie's lap.

"Rubbish! I don't want riches. I want a handsome husband," she cried
with refreshing frankness.

"I hardly think I would noise that fact abroad," was Isabel's superior
criticism.

"No, I wouldn't if I were you, it would be so perfectly preposterous,"
retorted Rosalie.

Isabel made no reply, but took care that no one else discovered who had
found the thimble.



CHAPTER XII

CHRISTMAS AT SEVERNDALE


By a lucky chance Christmas this year fell upon Monday, thus giving the
midshipmen either liberty, or leave, according to their classes, or
conduct grade, from Saturday at twelve-thirty to Monday at five-thirty,
when those enjoying the latter rare privilege had to report for duty in
Bancroft Hall. Christmas leave for the first class was an innovation,
which only those on first conduct grade might hope to enjoy. That there
was the ghost of a chance of any member of the lower classes coming in
for such a rare treat not even the most sanguine dreamed. _But_, and
that BUT was written in italics and capitals, when Captain Stewart made
up his mind to do a certain thing it required considerable force of
will, stress of circumstances, and concerted opposition to divert him.
But the outcome lies in the near future.

The excitement incident to the rescue of Columbine had barely subsided
when a telegram brought Peggy the joyful news that Captain Stewart's
ship, which had met with some slight accident to her machinery, was to
be dry-docked at Norfolk and her father was to have two weeks' leave.
The _Rhode Island_ was to be in port at the New York Navy Yard, and this
meant the forgathering of all who were nearest and dearest to Peggy and
Polly; a rare joy at the holiday season for those connected with the
Navy.

Consequently, this year's Yuletide was to be a red letter one in every
sense, for Mrs. Howland and Gail, who had spent Thanksgiving in New
York, would return to Annapolis for Christmas and, joy of joys!
Constance, Snap, and Mr. Harold would come with them.

The telegraph and telephone wires between New York, Norfolk, Washington
and Annapolis were in a fair way to become fused.

As many of the girls lived at great distances from Washington, the
Christmas Recess began on the twenty-second. Captain Stewart had 'phoned
to his party "Heavy marching orders, three P. M., Friday, Dec. 22,
19--." A wild flutter ensued.

The Thanksgiving holiday at Mrs. Harold's had been widely discussed at
Columbia Heights and had stirred all sorts of emotions to their very
centers. At Captain Stewart's request, Mrs. Harold had sent unique
invitations to each of the girls soon after their return to school.
They were couched in the formal wording of an official invitation from a
battle ship of the fleet and created a sensation.

Natalie, Stella, Nelly, Rosalie, Juno and Marjorie were invited. Lily
Pearl's and Helen's attentions to Peggy and Polly having proved
abortive, they contrived ways and means of their own to reach the Land
o' Heart's Desire. Helen's old bachelor uncle, a queer, dull old
gentleman, whose mind was certainly _not_ active, and whom Helen could,
figuratively speaking, turn and twist about her little finger, was
persuaded to pass the holidays at Wilmot Hall. He knew a number of
people in Annapolis, so the path to a certain extent was cleared for
Lily Pearl and Helen, though they would have given up all the uncles in
Christendom to have been included in that house party. But half a loaf
is certainly better than no bread, and once at Annapolis they meant to
make the most of that half. So it was with no small degree of triumph
that they announced the fact that they, too, would be at the Christmas
hop. Just how they intended to manage it they did not disclose.
Sufficient unto the hour was to be the triumph thereof.

Captain Stewart arrived on Friday morning in time for luncheon and,
guileless man that he has already shown himself to be, promptly
offered to "convoy the two little cruisers to Annapolis." His offer was
accepted with so many gushing responses that the poor man looked about
as bewildered as a great St. Bernard which has inadvertently upset a
cage of humming birds, and finds them fluttering all about him. Lily and
Helen were of a different type from the girls he knew best, but he
accepted the situation gracefully and enjoyed himself hugely with the
others, even Marjorie blossoming out wonderfully under his genial
kindliness.

Isabel amused him immensely. Isabel was to spend her holiday in Boston,
_of course_, but was to meet a friend in Baltimore who would chaperone
the shrinking damsel safely to Mamma's protecting arms. Captain Stewart
would escort her to the Naval Academy Junction, from which point it
seemed perfectly safe to let her pursue the remaining half hour's
journey to Baltimore unattended. In the course of the journey from
Washington to the Junction Isabel elected to make some delayed notes in
her diary, greatly to the secret amusement of Captain Stewart, who
happened to be sitting just behind her.

"Making a list of all your dances and Christmas frolicings,
little-er-ahem--, Miss?"

"Boylston, Captain Stewart. Oh, no, I rarely attend dances; there is so
much that is instructive to be enjoyed while at home. I am making some
notes in my diary."

"Don't say so. Find the outlook inspiring?" Captain Stewart laughed as
he looked out upon the dreary landscape, for the afternoon was lowery,
and certainly, the cheerless flat landscape between Washington and the
Junction was far from thrilling.

"Oh, I am not depending upon my visual sight for my inspiration, Captain
Stewart. Don't you think the study of one's fellow beings intensely
interesting?'

"Yes, it's a heap cheerier inside the car than outside on this
confoundedly soggy day," answered Captain Stewart, preparing to withdraw
from an even more depressing atmosphere than that beyond the car
windows, by turning to Rosalie, whose eyes were commencing to dance. But
Isabel had no idea of foregoing an opportunity to make an impression,
little guessing the sort of one she was in reality making.

"Yes, it is exceedingly damp today, but do you think we ought to allow
externals to affect us?" she asked.

"Eh? What? I'm afraid you're getting beyond my bearings. Lead won't
touch bottom."

Isabel smiled indulgently: One must be tolerant with a person forced to
spend his life within the limited bounds of a ship.

"Miss Sturgis, our instructor in sociology, advises us to be very
observing and to take notes of everything unusual. You know we shall
graduate next year and time passes _so_ swiftly. It seems only yesterday
that I entered Columbia Heights School, and here Christmas is upon us. I
have so little time left in which to accomplish all I feel I should, and
I could not graduate after I'd passed seventeen. I'd _die_ of
mortification. And, oh, that fact holds a suggestion. Pardon me if I
make a note of it, and--and--_how_ do you spell accomplished, Captain
Stewart? I really have so little time to give to etymology."

For one second Captain Stewart looked at the girl as though he thought
she might possibly be running him. He was more accustomed to the
fun-loving, joking girl than to this "cellar-grown turnip" as he
mentally stigmatized her. Then the little imps in Rosalie's eyes proved
his undoing:

"I'm afraid I'm no good as an English prof. Reckon I'd spell it
akomplish. Sounds as good as any other way. You'll know what it means
when you overhaul it anyhow. But here we are at the Junction. Pipe
overside, bo's'n," he cried to Peggy.

Good-bys were hastily spoken and Captain Stewart soon had his party
hurrying across the platform to the Annapolis car. As he settled Rosalie
in her seat he asked:

"How many Miss Boylstons have you got at Columbia Heights?"

"Only one, thank the powers!" answered Rosalie fervently.

It was nearly six when the electric cars rolled up to the rear of Wilmot
Hall and the girls saw Mrs. Harold, and a number of the midshipmen of
the first class lined up and eagerly watching for the particular "she"
who would spend the holidays in Annapolis.

A mob of squabbling boys made a mad rush for the car steps in the hope
of securing suitcases to carry into the hotel, and had not the
midshipmen swept them aside, further progress for the car's passengers
would have been barred. The hoodlums of the town seem to spring from the
very ground upon the arrival of a car at Wilmot and certainly make life
a burden for travelers trying to descend the car steps.

There was only time for general greetings just then, as all hurried into
Wilmot to meet old friends and new ones, Mrs. Howland, Constance, Snap,
Gail and Mr. Harold having already arrived.

Pending the departure for Severndale, Mrs. Harold had, at Captain
Stewart's request, engaged three extra rooms, thus practically
preempting her entire corridor for her guests, and a jollier party it
would have been hard to find than the one escorted down to the big
dining-room that evening by "The Executive Officer," as Captain Stewart
called Mrs. Harold, who was acting as chaperone for his party.

Directly dinner ended Captain Stewart and Commander Harold left upon
some mysterious mission which threw the girls into a wild flutter of
curiosity.

"Oh, what is it all about?" demanded Rosalie.

"Can't tell one single thing until Daddy Neil says I may," laughed
Peggy.

"Does Polly know?" asked Natalie.

Peggy nodded.

"You'll have to bottle up your impatience for an hour or two. Go to your
rooms and shake out your pretties for tomorrow night's frolic, for I am
going to 'pipe down' early tonight. When you have finished stowing your
lockers come back to the sitting-room and we'll have a quiet, cozy time
until our commanding officers return. Constance, Gail and Snap must make
a call this evening, but I'm not going to let anyone claim my time. It
all belongs to my girls," said Mrs. Harold gaily, as she and Mrs.
Howland seated themselves before the open fire.

The girls hurried away to do her bidding, for it had been decided to
remain at Wilmot until after the Christmas hop, all going out to
Severndale by a special car when the dance was over, Harrison, Mammy and
Jerome, under Mrs. Harold's tactful generalship, having made all
preparations for the big house party.

In a few moments the girls returned from unpacking their suitcases.

The Thanksgiving visit had removed all sense of reserve or strangeness
with Mrs. Harold, but they did not know Mrs. Howland, and for a moment
there seemed an ominous lull. Then Peggy crying:

"I want my old place, Little Mother," nestled softly upon the arm of the
big morris-chair in which Mrs. Harold sat, and rested her head against
Mrs. Harold. The other girls had dropped upon chairs, but Mrs. Harold
was minded to have her charges pro tem at closer range, so releasing
herself from Peggy's circling arm for a moment, she reached for two
plump cushions upon the couch near at hand and flopping them down, one
at either knee said: "Juno on this one, Rosalie on the other; Marjorie
beside me and Natalie, Stella and Nelly with Polly," for Polly had
already cuddled down upon her mother's chair.

Before the words had well left her lips, Rosalie had sprung to her coign
of vantage crying:

"Oh, Mrs. Harold, you are the dearest chappie I ever knew, and it's
already been ten times lovelier than Polly and Peggy ever could describe
it."

With a happy little laugh, Natalie promptly seated herself upon the arm
of Mrs. Howland's chair, but Juno hesitated a moment, looking doubtfully
at the cushion. Juno was a very up-to-date young lady as to raiment. How
could she flop down as Rosalie had done while wearing a skirt which
measured no more than a yard around at the hem, and geared up in an
undergarment which defied all laws of anatomy by precluding the
possibility of bending at the waist line? She looked at Mrs. Harold and
she looked at the cushion. As her boys would have expressed it "the
Little Mother was not slow in catching on." She now laughed outright.
Juno did not know whether to resent it or join in the laugh too. There
was something about the older woman, however, which aroused in girls a
sense of camaraderie rather than reserve, though Juno had never quite
been able to analyze it. She smiled, and by some form of contortion of
which necessity and long practice had made her a passed mistress,
contrived to get herself settled upon the cushion.

"Honey," said Mrs. Harold, patting her shoulder, "if you want to live up
to your name you'll discard your coat of mail. Your namesake would have
scorned its limitations, and your young figure will be far lovelier and
more graceful, to say nothing of the benefit to yourself and future
generations, if you heave your armor plate overboard."

It was all said half-jestingly, half-seriously, but Juno gave her head a
superior little toss as she answered:

"And go looking like a meal sack? To say nothing of flinging away twenty
perfectly good dollars just paid to Madam Malone."

"I'm afraid I'm a very old-fashioned old lady, but I have no notion of
letting any Madam Malone, or any other French lady from Erin dictate
_my_ fashions, or curtail the development and use of my muscles; I have
too much use for them. Do Peggy and Polly resemble 'meal sacks?' Yet no
Madam Malone has ever had the handling of their floating-ribs, let me
tell you. Watch out, little girl, for a nervous, semi-invalid womanhood
is a high price to pay for a pair of corsets at seventeen. There, my
lecture is over and now let's talk of earthquakes."

At her aunt's question regarding Peggy and herself resembling "meal
sacks," Polly laughed aloud and being in a position to practically
demonstrate the freedom which a sensibly full skirt afforded, cried:

"If I couldn't _run_ when I felt like it I'd _die_. I tell you, when I
strike heavy weather I want my rigging ship-shape. I'd hate to scud
under bare poles."

The subject was changed but the words were not forgotten. The other
girls had all gathered about the blazing logs upon cushions or hassocks,
and a pretty group they formed as they talked eagerly of the coming hop,
and tried to guess what Captain Stewart was planning, Mrs. Harold and
Mrs. Howland joining enthusiastically in it all.

"Tanta," asked Polly, "do you know that Lily Pearl Montgomery and Helen
Doolittle are here at Wilmot with Helen's uncle? We have christened him
'Foxy Grandpa.' Just wait till you see him. He looks the character
exactly."

"Are they to go to the hop?" asked Mrs. Harold, instantly interested,
for even though she had heard amusing tales of the two girls, they were
still young girls, and she was concerned for their happiness and
pleasure.

"We don't know and we didn't like to seem inquisitive," replied Polly.

"Yes, they are going, Little Mother. Helen told me so. Foxy Grandpa
knows somebody who knows somebody else, who knows the boys who are to
take them, but they didn't tell us their names. I wonder if we know
them," was Peggy's laughing explanation.

"I hope they will have a happy time," said Mrs. Howland gently as she
stroked back Polly's silky curls.

"You trust them to have the time of their lives, Mumsey. But oh, _isn't_
it good to be here!" and Polly favored her mother with an ecstatic hug.

"What time are we to go to Severndale tomorrow, Little Mother?" asked
Peggy.

"Not until after the hop, dear. It will be very late, I know, but
Christmas is a special day of days. That is the reason I'm going to send
you all off early tonight. Nine-thirty gunfire will see you started for
the Land o' Nod."

"Aren't we to wait until Daddy Neil comes back?"

"Not unless he gets back before three bells and it looks doubtful, two
have already struck. But you'll learn the news the first thing in the
morning."

But at that moment Captain Stewart came breezing into the room. Peggy
and Polly flew to him crying:

"Did he say yes? Did he say yes? Oh, answer, quick! Do!" they begged,
each clasping arms about him.

"If I answer quick you'll both cast loose but the longer I keep you in
suspense the longer you'll lay hold," was his quizzical retort.

"We won't stir. We won't budge. Tell us."

For answer Captain Stewart drew an official-looking document from his
blouse pocket and waved it high above the girls' heads. A series of
ecstatic squeals arose from them. Opening the carefully folded paper he
read its stereotyped phrasing, all of which is too serious to be herein
repeated. Suffice it to say that it secured for

     Durand Leroux,     Second Class
     Herbert Taylor,    Second Class
     Ralph Wilber,      Third Class
     Jean Paul Nichols, Third Class
     Gordon Powers,     Third Class
     Douglas Porter,    Third Class

leave of absence under Captain Neil Stewart's orders from 6:30 P. M.,
December 23rd, to 6 P. M., December 25th, 19--.

When the excitement had somewhat subsided, Captain Stewart said:

"Now that I'm sure of it, I must go 'phone out to Severndale or Jerome
and Harrison will be throwing fits. We'll have to quarter that bunch in
the old wing, but Lord bless my soul, I reckon they'd be willing to go
out to the paddock. But mind, you girls, _not one whisper of it to those
boys, until I give the word_, or it will be the brig for every mother's
daughter of you," and with this terrifying threat he strode off down the
corridor.

Just then three bells struck in the tower and at the second stroke the
nine-thirty gun boomed out its welcome "Release."

As the sound died away Mrs. Harold walked over to the big window calling
to the girls to join her.

"Stand here a moment," she said, then going over to the electric switch
turned off all the lights.

"Why? What?" cried all the girls excepting Peggy and Polly.

"Look at the windows on the third deck of Bancroft, southwest corner,"
she said, unhooking a drop light from above her desk and crossing the
room to the puzzled girls. "Those are Durand's and Bert's rooms. Next to
them are Gordon's and Doug's. Watch closely."

Presently from two of the windows lights were flashed three times in
rapid succession. Then absolute darkness.

Instantly Mrs. Harold turned the reflector of her drop light toward the
academy in such a way that the light would be cast out across the
night, then by turning the key on and off quickly she flashed its rays
three times, paused a moment, then repeated the signal.

Instantly from the rooms mentioned came the answering flashes, which
after a brief interval were repeated, Mrs. Harold again giving her
reply.

"Oh, who does it? What is it for? What do they mean?" asked her
visitors.

"Just our usual good-night message to each other. My boys are all dear to
me, but Durand and Gordon peculiarly so. Those rooms are theirs. Shall I
tell you the message the flashes carry? It is just a little honor code.
I want the boys to stand well this term, but, like most boys they are
always ready for skylarking, and the work from seven-thirty to
nine-thirty is easily side-tracked. So we have agreed to exchange a
message at gunfire if 'all is well.' If they have been boning tomorrow's
work my flash light is answered; if not--well, I see no answering
flash."

"Do you think they always live up to the agreement?" asked Rosalie.

"I have faith to believe they do. Isn't it always better to believe a
person honest until we prove him a thief, than to go the other way about
it? Besides, they carry the Talisman."

"What is it--Little Mother?" asked Juno, to the surprise of the others,
slipping to Mrs. Harold's side and placing her arm about her.

"Would you really like to know, dear? Suppose we throw on a fresh log
and leave the lights turned off. Then we'll have a confidential ten
minutes before you go to bed. You can all cuddle down in a pile on the
big bearskin."

A moment later the flames formed a brilliant background to a pretty
picture, and Mrs. Harold was repeating softly, as the upspringing flames
filled the room with, their light and rested lovingly upon the young
faces upturned to here:

     "Each night when three bells strike the hour
     Up in the old clock's lofty tower,
     A flashing beam, a darting ray
     Their message of good faith convey.

     "Those wavering, clear, electric beams,
     Who'll guess how much their message means?
     Or dream the wondrous tale they tell?
     'Dear Little Mother, all is well.'

     "Yes, out across the peaceful night,
     By moon and stars made silvery bright,
     This message comes in gleaming light:
     We've kept the faith; Good-night! Good-night!

     "Our token of a duty done,
     An effort made, a victory won;
     The bond on which we claim the right
     To flash our message, our 'Good-night.'

     "Dear Little Mother. Precious name!
     None sweeter may a woman claim,
     No greater honor hope to gain
     Than this which three short words contain.

     "To win and hold a love so pure,
     A faith so stanch, so strong, so sure--
     To gain a confidence so rare--
     What honors can with these compare?

     "No wonder as I flash my ray
     Across the night's dividing way,
     In deepest reverence I say:
     God keep you true, dear lads, alway."

The girls' good-nights were spoken very tenderly. The message of the
lights had carried one to them as well.



CHAPTER XIII

YULETIDE


"We are one real old-timey family, sure enough," said Captain Stewart
heartily, as he gathered his girls about him in Mrs. Harold's
sitting-room Saturday morning. "But, my-oh, my! I wish I were that
Indian-Chinese-Jap god, what's his name? who has about a dozen, arms.
Two are just no account," he added laughingly as he held Peggy in one
and Polly in the other, while all the other girls, Gail included,
crowded around him, all talking and laughing at once, all demanding to
know what would be the very first thing on the day's program.

Mr. and Mrs. Harold, Mrs. Howland, Constance and Snap were seated about
the room, highly amused by the group in the center, for the girls had
gathered about Captain Stewart as honeybees gather about a jar of
sweets.

"Come close! Come close, and I'll tell you. Can't talk at long range,"
rumbled the kindly man, flopping his arms over Peggy's and Polly's
shoulders like an amiable sea lion.

Rosalie flew to snuggle beside Polly. Natalie by Peggy, the other girls
drawing as close as possible, Stella excepted, who laughed, blushed
prettily and said:

"I think Captain Stewart has more than his arms full now, so I'll hover
on the outskirts."

"I used to be scared to death of him," confessed Gail, "but those weeks
up in New London scared away my scare."

"Well, what is it to be this morning?" asked Peggy.

"Suppose we all go over and take a look around the yard. It may be
rather slow with just two old fogies like Harold and me for escorts, but
we'll leave the matrons at home and take Snap. That ensign's stripe on
his sleeve makes him seem a gay young bachelor even if he is a staid old
Benedic, and Constance can lend him to you girls for a little while,
anyway."

"I'm game! No telling which one will be responsible for an elopement,
Connie," cried Snap, bending over his pretty young wife to rest his dark
hair against hers for a second.

She laughed a happy little laugh as she answered:

"Go along, Sir Heartbreaker. People down here have not forgotten auld
lang syne and I dare say the rocking chair fleet will at once begin to
commiserate me. But you girls had better watch out; he is a hopeless
flirt. So beware!" Nevertheless, the light in her eyes as she raised
them to the handsome man whose hand rested upon her shoulders held
little of apprehension.

Ten minutes later the merry group had set forth. Mrs. Harold, Mrs.
Howland and Constance were only too glad to have their lively charges
out of the way for an hour or two, for a good bit must be attended to
before they could leave for Severndale that evening. Captain Stewart and
the girls would not return until twelve o'clock and the boys--who had
been invited out for luncheon rather than to dine, former experiences
having taught Mrs. Harold the folly of inviting dinner guests on a hop
night--would arrive immediately after formation.

At twelve o'clock the girls returned from the Yard, and when one bell
struck were watching in undisguised eagerness for their luncheon guests.
From Mrs. Harold's windows they could see the steady stream of men
rushing from Bancroft toward the main gate, and in less time than seemed
possible, footsteps were audible--yes, a trifle more than audible--as
"the bunch" came piling up Wilmot's stairway; for the promptitude with
which "the Little Mother's boys" responded to "a bid" to Middies' Haven
was an unending source of wonder to most people and certainly to her
school-girl guests.

Eight midshipmen, came tramping up the stairs, eager to welcome old
friends and ready to meet new ones upon the old ones' recommendations.

To Peggy, Polly and Nelly the happy, laughing, joking lot of lads were
an old story, but the influx came near turning some of the other girls'
heads.

Juno was sorely divided between Douglas Porter's splendid figure and
Durand's irresistible charm, until Miss Juno began to absorb the full
significance of "class rates" and gold lace. The "five-striper" or head
of the entire brigade was a well set-up chap and rather good looking,
though suffering somewhat from a bad attack of "stripitis," as it was
termed in Bancroft Hall. He was fairly efficient, a "good enough fellow"
but not above "greasing," that is, cultivating the officers' favor, or
that of their wives and daughters, if thereby ultimate benefits accrued
to himself.

The three-striper of Ralph's, Jean's and Durand's company whom Mrs.
Harold had asked to escort Stella, was an all-round popular man, and a
great favorite of Mrs. Harold's for his irreproachable character, sunny,
lovable disposition and unfailing kindness to the underclassmen.

The others who crowded the room are old friends.

Jean Paul and Rosalie chattered like a pair of magpies. Natalie was the
happiest thing imaginable as she and Bert Taylor, who had found the
little golden-head most enticing, laughed and ran each other like old
chums. Peggy was everywhere, and although Durand strove to break away
from Juno in order to "get in a few" with Peggy, he was held prisoner
with "big Doug" until Guy Bennett the five-striper arrived and promptly
appropriated her. Then Durand got away.

Gordon Powers devoted himself to Nelly, while Ralph hovered over Polly,
for they had endless interests in common.

"And you made the crew, Ralph!" cried Polly. "Maybe I wasn't tickled
nearly to death when you wrote me about it. And you're out for
basketball too? How did you come out in Math and Mech? And who's taken
Gumshoe's place this year? And you never wrote me a word about Class
President Election, though I guess I've asked you in every letter. What
makes you so tight with your news, any way? I write you every little
thing about Columbia Heights. Come across with it."

Ralph turned crimson. Polly looked first baffled then suddenly growing
wise, jumped at him and shook him by the shoulders just as she used to
do in the old days as she cried:

"It's _you_! And you never told me! You good-for-nothing boy."

"Hi! Watch out! The Captain's clearing for action," cried Jean Paul.
"Told you you'd catch it when she found out."

"Well, Tanta might have told me, anyhow," protested Polly.

"Ralph wouldn't let me. Kept me honor bound not to. But if you are all
ready for your luncheon, come down at once. There are--how many of us?
Twenty-four? Merciful powers!"

"No, Tanta, only twenty-three. Poor Gail's minus an escort," cried
Polly, a shade of regret in her eyes, for Gail meant a great deal to
this little sister.

"Why, so she is. Now that's too bad of me," but something in her aunt's
voice made Polly look at her keenly. A moment later she understood.

As the merry, laughing, chattering group reached the last landing of the
stairs leading down to the Assembly Hall, a tall, broad-shouldered man
who stood at the foot looked eagerly upward. Polly gave one wild screech
and nearly fell down the remaining steps, to fling herself into the
arms outstretched to save her, as a deep voice said:

"One bell, Captain Polly! You'll carry away your landing stage if you
come head on at full speed."

"Oh, Shortie! Shortie! Where did you come from?" cried Polly, nearly
pumping his arm from its socket, while all the others crowded around to
welcome the big fellow whom all had loved or esteemed during his
undergraduate days.

"Ask the Little Mother. She's responsible, and Gail needs looking after
among all this bunch, I know. Come along, young lady. I've got to see
you fed and cared for."

And Gail seemed perfectly willing to "come along."

With such an addition to her family, Mrs. Harold had made arrangements
to have two large round tables reserved for her in the smaller of the
two dining-rooms, the older people at one, with Gail, Stella, Juno,
Shortie, Allyn and Guy to make the circle, the younger people with Peggy
and Polly as hostesses at the adjoining table. In addition to her own
regular waiter, the second head waiter and two assistants had been
detailed to serve, but with the Christmas rush and the number of people
at Wilmot for the holidays there was more or less delay between
courses.

"Where is John?" she demanded, as they were waiting for the salad.

"Over yonder. Shall I hail him?" asked Durand, from the next table,
promptly putting his fingers to his mouth as though to give one of the
ear-splitting whistles which seem to carry for miles.

"If you dare, you scape-grace, right here in this dining-room!" she
warned.

"Oh, do it!" cried Polly. "I want to learn how. Show me."

"All right; stick out your tongue," directed Durand and Polly promptly
fell into the trap, though unluckily she happened to be looking straight
past Durand at the moment, and what proved more embarrassing, right at a
table occupied by Foxy Grandpa, Helen and Lily Pearl, whom Mrs. Harold
had not yet met, so, of course, did not recognize. (Helen and Lily did
not mean to lose sight of Peggy and Polly if they could help it.)

There are some situations where explanations only make matters worse.
This was one of them. Polly was in everlasting disgrace and everyone at
the table in shouts of laughter, as well as those at other tables near
at hand, whose occupants could not have helped hearing and seeing if
they would.

But at that moment Rosalie diverted attention from Polly by trying to
clap her hands regardless of the piece of luncheon roll she held, thus
promptly launching it over her shoulder, where it went merrily bounding
across the polished floor to be gravely rescued by the irreproachable
John. But Rosalie was in the realms of the gods and far above such
mundane matters as a luncheon roll's eccentricities.

Mrs. Harold was no whit behind her girls in their fun, and was so well
known to every guest in the hotel that her table was invariably looked
upon as a source of amusement for most of the others, and the fun which
flowed like an electric current came very near making them forget the
good things before them, and the big dining-room full of people found
themselves sympathetically affected, each gay bit of laughter, each
enthusiastic comment finding an answering smile at some table.

As nearly every member of the first class had gone on Christmas leave,
the few who happened to be in Annapolis having remained as the guests of
friends, there was a very perceptible thinning out of ranks over in
Bancroft that afternoon. Nevertheless, Mrs. Harold had announced an
informal tea from four to six and "general liberty" enabled all who
chose to do so to attend it. And many chose! But in the interval
between luncheon and four o 'clock Mrs. Harold "barred out the masculine
population" and carried her girls upstairs to change their gowns for her
tea. It was during the "prinking process" that some very characteristic
comments were made upon the masculine guests now enjoying their
post-prandial cigars, or cigarettes, in the smoking-room, below stairs.

Mrs. Harold was in her element listening to the girls' frank comments.

"Oh, I know I'm going to have the very time of my life, Mrs. Harold,"
exclaimed Natalie, giving a little bounce of rapture.

"Mr. Porter is certainly a remarkably handsome man," was Juno's
complacent comment. "But, Mrs. Harold, aren't first classmen
really--well--don't they come in for greater privileges? Rate more? Is
that what you say down here?"

"Of course. Especially a five-striper, Juno. You'd better cultivate Guy
Bennett. It's a great distinction to profit by a five-striper's favors.
There are three girls in Annapolis who have reduced that sort of
cultivation to a science and if you manage to rival them you will have
scored a point, sure enough."

"How many five-stripers are there?" asked Stella.

"Only one, happily, or the girls to whom I allude would have nervous
prostration. But the four and three-stripers save the day for them.
Nothing below is worth cultivating."

"Don't Polly and Peggy 'cultivate' the stripers!" asked Rosalie.

"That depends," was Mrs. Harold's cryptic answer as an odd smile caused
her lips to twitch. "Last year's five-striper and a good many other
stripers, were with us constantly, and I miss them more than I like to
dwell upon. This year's? Well--I shall endeavor to survive their
departure."

"Oh, but don't you just love them all!" cried Rosalie.

"Which, the midshipmen or the stripes?" asked Polly.

"Why, the midshipmen, of course!"

"I think a whole lot of some of the boys--yes, of a good many, but there
are some whom I wouldn't miss much, I reckon."

"Oh, I think you are perfectly heartless, Polly. They are just the
darlingest men I ever met."

With what unction the word "men" rolled from Rosalie's tongue. "Men" had
not figured very largely in Rosalie's world, and Mrs. Harold chuckled
inwardly at the thought of classing Rosalie's particular little Jean
Paul, in the category of grown-ups; anything more essentially boyish,
and full to the brim of madcap pranks, than the eighteen-year-old Jean
Paul, it would have been hard to picture.

Mrs. Harold had dispatched notes to Helen and Lily Pearl asking them in
Peggy's and Polly's name to be present at her little tea that afternoon,
to meet several of the midshipmen, and, if they cared to do so, to bring
with them the men who were taking them to the hop. She did not know who
these men were.

Shortly after four Helen and Lily Pearl arrived in a flutter. Mrs.
Harold had not felt it incumbent upon her to include Foxy Grandpa,
concluding that he could find diversion for an hour or two while his
charges were with their school-chums. When Helen and Lily arrived upon
the scene, Mrs. Harold's face was a study. Foxy Grandpa was evidently
too dull to be critical and Columbia Heights was at a safe distance.

Both Lily Pearl and Helen were gotten up regardless. Each wore
extravagant gowns, each had done up her hair and supplemented it by
wonderful creations of false puffs. Each wore dangling ear-rings and the
complexion of each girl had been "assisted."

Poor Mrs. Harold felt as though a couple of chorus girls had invaded her
little sanctum, and Peggy and Polly were furious. But it was too late
then to retreat and a few moments later the midshipmen began to pour
into the sitting-room, the two who were to take Helen and Lily being men
whom Mrs. Harold had always avoided, feeling that they were no
companions for the frank, unaffected girls she loved so dearly. She
resolved to keep her eye piped.

It was a merry afternoon. Rosalie scintillated, and her scintillation
proved infectious for Jean Paul, upon whom she had made a deep
impression at Thanksgiving; he instantly appropriated her, greatly to
Mrs. Harold's amusement, for she was never too fully occupied to notice
significant signs.

Quiet, dignified Bert Taylor had promptly taken bonny Natalie under his
serene protection. And Juno! Well she was sorely divided between Doug's
towering seventy-four inches and Gordon's sixty-nine, though she strove
to conceal the exaltation which her uniformed gallants stirred in her
soul by bringing to bear upon them all the superlative superiority which
she had studied as the acme of success in the habitues of the Hotel
Astor. With Douglas it worked to a charm. He rose to the corresponding
rôle as a trout to a fly, but poor Gordon was only too thankful when the
companionship and conversation became more general. The superior young
lady from the metropolis was beyond his ken. Little Nelly Bolivar's
sweetness and quaint humor filled his ideals to far greater
satisfaction. He had met Nelly first at Severndale and several times
since with Mrs. Harold, who had often invited her to spend the weekend
at Wilmot, where she had looked to the young girl's welfare, knowing how
much she must miss Peggy this winter.

Nelly was simply dressed in a gown which had once been Peggy's, for most
of Peggy's garments went to Nelly, but were given so sweetly and with
such evident love, that not even the most sensitive nature could have
been wounded, and they were a real blessing to her. No one ever
commented upon the fact and before going to Columbia Heights, Nelly had
spent many a busy hour with Mrs. Harold remodeling and working like a
little beaver under that good friend's guidance, for Nelly was a skilful
little needlewoman. As a result, no girl in the school was more suitably
gowned. The only girls who had eyed her critically were Lily Pearl,
Helen and Juno. The first because she was too shallow to do aught but
follow Helen's lead, and Juno from a naturally critical disposition.
Juno meant to hold her favor somewhat in reserve. She intended first to
see what Nelly's standing at Severndale proved. She might be Polly's and
Peggy's friend--well and good--but who was she? Would she find a
welcome among the Delacys, the Vanderstacks, the Dryers and heaven knows
which-or-whats of New York's glitterers?

Juno was hardly in a position to gauge her standards by those who
represented the big city's finest and best. She saw the patrons of the
great hotels and moved among them, but of New York's sterling worth, she
was as ignorant as a babe. Its superficial glamour and glitter, as well
as its less desirable contingent, which she was not sufficiently
experienced in the world's ways to fully understand, made the strongest
appeal to her. Poor little Nelly Bolivar would have been a modest, sleek
little Junco compared with the birds of paradise (?), cockatoos, and
pheasants of Juno's world, but of all this Nelly was quite unaware and
too happy in her present surroundings to care.

It was a merry afternoon for all, but a diversion was created by Polly,
shortly before it ended.

She was at the tea-table pouring, and talking to Ralph like a
phonograph, when Mrs. Harold became aware of a horrible odor, and cried:

"What under the sun smells so abominably? Why, Polly Howland, look at my
perfectly good teakettle! It is red hot, and--horrors--there isn't one
drop of water in it!"

True enough, absorbed in her conversation with Ralph, Polly had
completely overlooked the trifling detail of keeping her kettle filled,
though the alcohol lamp beneath it was doing its duty most lampfully.

Damages repaired and the kettle at length filled and singing merrily,
the gay little gathering took slight note of time, but soon after four
bells struck in the tower clock, Mrs. Harold began to "round up" her
masculine guests, for she had no notion of their being late for
formation.

"Take your places in the 'firing line!'" she ordered.

"Oh, there's loads of time, Little Mother!" came in protest from Jean
Paul.

"Time to burn," from Dick Allyn, who found Stella mighty entertaining.

"Now, Little Mother, you're not going to be so hard-hearted as to turn
us out early tonight! Why, it's weeks since we've had the girls here,"
wheedled Durand.

"Can't help it. Out you all go! There's too much at stake just now to
risk any demerits."

"At stake? What's at stake, Little Mother?" were the eager questions.

"Can't tell you a single thing now. I'm tongue-tied until Captain
Stewart passes the word."

"Oh, what is it? Please come across with it, Little Mother. When may we
know," begged Ralph.

"At formation tonight perhaps. No use teasing! Join the firing line!"
and with the command of a general Mrs. Harold shooed her brood out into
the corridor, where overcoats and caps hung. They were used to these
sudden dismissals, and so were Polly and Peggy, who were too familiar
with all that which must be crowded into a limited amount of time not to
appreciate what it meant to have "the decks cleared" when necessary. But
Rosalie, Natalie, Juno, Marjorie, Stella and the other girls accepted
the new order of things with divers emotions. Rosalie giggled, Natalie's
face expressed wonder. Juno's was just a shade critical, Marjorie and
Stella smiled.

"Gee, if we obeyed all orders with as good grace as we obey the Little
Mother's what models we'd be," was Jean Paul's jerky comment as he
struggled into an overcoat, his eyes still fixed upon Rosalie's winsome
face.

Meanwhile, Doug Porter was clawing about among the coats to find his
own, but happening to glance at Jean Paul, shouted:

"Well, I'll be hanged! Say, how is it to get out of my coat, Bantam?"

True enough, the garment into which the wee man was wriggling trailed
upon the carpet, but Jean Paul was in a realm where overcoats 'never
were or e'er had been.'

At six-fifteen the lingering good-byes had been said and Mrs. Harold had
dismissed those who constituted the "firing line," the name having been
bestowed by Wheedles when he first witnessed the promptitude with which
Mrs. Harold sent her boys to the right-about in order to avoid demerits
for tardiness.

"Why must they rush back on the very minute?" asked Rosalie, when all
were gone, half inclined to resent an order of things which deprived her
of her gallant Jean sans ceremony.

"Discipline! Discipline! Little lady," laughed Mrs. Harold, coming up
behind Rosalie and turning the piquant face up to hers.

"I should think they'd feel like a lot of school boys to be ordered
about so," was Juno's rather petulant comment.

"Better feel 'like a lot of schoolboys' here, than like a lot of
simpletons when they 'hit the tree,'" was Mrs. Harold's merry reply.
"You've a whole lot to learn about regulations, my bonny lassie."

It was all said so kindly and so merrily that Juno could not resent it.

"But when will they learn about their leave? And if they are to go out
to Severndale tonight how will they manage?" asked Rosalie eagerly.

"Trust Daddy Neil to manage that. When they get back they'll be called
to the office and the officer in charge will notify them of what has
taken place and give them their orders."

"Oh, I don't think I can possibly wait to hear what they'll say!" cried
Polly. "I never, never knew such a lovely thing to happen before."



CHAPTER XIV

AT SEVERNDALE


"My goodness!" cried Rosalie, "I thought I knew Peggy Stewart, but the
Peggy Stewart we know at Columbia Heights, and the Peggy Stewart we saw
at Wilmot, and the Peggy Stewart we've found here are three different
people!"

"And if you stay here long enough you'll know still another Peggy
Stewart," nodded Polly sagely.

"She is a wonder no matter where you find her," said Nelly quietly, "and
she grows to be more and more of a wonder the longer you know her."

"How long have you been observing this wonderful wonder?" asked Juno.

"I think Peggy Stewart has held my interest from the first moment we
came to live at Severndale," was Nelly's perfectly truthful, though not
wholly enlightening, answer. Juno thought the evasion intentional and
looked at her rather sharply. She was more than curious to see Nelly's
home and father, and wondered if the party would be invited there.

The Christmas hop, which had been a paradise within flag-draped walls
for Captain Stewart's guests, was numbered among delights passed, but so
many more were in store and the grand climax of the year, the New Year's
eve hop, though, alack! it had to be given on the night of December
thirtieth instead of the thirty-first, was looked forward to with
eagerness.

The party had come out to Severndale by a special car at twelve-thirty,
and a "madder, merrier" group of young people it would have been hard to
find.

Upon their return to Bancroft Hall after Mrs. Harold's summary dismissal
from "Middie's Haven" the previous Saturday night, Ralph, Jean Paul,
Durand, Bert, Gordon and Doug had been ordered to report at the office
and had it not been for the hint given at the tea, would have gone in
trepidation of spirit. But it so happened that the officer in charge was
possessed of a flickering memory of his own midshipman days, and his
twinkling eyes and cheerful grin were reassuring. The boys all openly
adored him, and even though they had dubbed him _Hercules_ Hugh, would
have formed a door mat of their bodies had he hinted a desire for it.

When the lucky six finally grasped the fact that Captain Stewart had
actually obtained forty-eight hours liberty for them, and they were to
go out to Severndale with the house-party, some startling things came
very near taking place right in the O C's office. Luckily the favored
ones restrained themselves until they reached Durand's room on the third
deck, where a vent promptly presented itself, and is too good a story to
leave untold.

Naturally at Christmas, innumerable boxes of "eats" are shipped to the
midshipmen from all over the United States, their contents usually
governed by the section of the world from which they are forwarded. New
England invariably sends its quota of mince pies, roast turkeys and the
viands which furnish forth a New England table at Yuletide. The South
and West send their special dishes.

Durand's Aunt Belle never failed him. Each holiday found a box at
Bancroft addressed to the lad who was so dear to her, and it was always
regarded as public property by Durand's friends, who never hesitated to
open it and regale themselves, sure that the generous owner of the
"eats" would be only too glad to share with them everything he owned.
But like most generous souls, Durand was often imposed upon, and this
year the imposition went to the very limit. While Durand and his friends
were over in Wilmot Hall his box was rifled, but it could hardly have
been said to have been done by his friends, several men who had counted
upon "Bubbles being a good old scout" having made way with practically
everything the box contained. When he returned to his room the turkey
carcass, picked clean as though buzzards had fallen upon it, rested
forlornly upon its back in the middle of his study table. It was well
for him that the midshipman on duty in his corridor had been one of the
marauders, otherwise he would have been speedily reported for that which
followed.

When the yelling, shouting bunch rushed into Durand's room they stopped
short and a few expletives expressed their opinions of the pirates. But
Durand's wits worked quickly. Catching up the denuded bird by its greasy
neck and giving the yell of a Comanche, he rushed out into the corridor
waving his weapon over his head like a war club. The man on duty at the
table at the end of the corridor saw him coming and needed no further
hint that his Nemesis was upon him. Regardless of duty or anything else,
he bounded from his chair and fled around the corner of the corridor,
the turkey carcass speeding after him with unerring aim.

Had he remained within range he would have received all and more than
his share of the bird. Unluckily, a divisional officer had chosen that
moment to turn into the corridor, and the turkey whizzed over his head,
for he was one very tiny man. Durand did not wait to make inquiries. He
had not removed cap or overcoat, a window was close at hand, the window
of the adjoining room was accessible to one as agile as Durand, and the
next second he was out of one and through the other, leaving his friends
to make explanations.

Why it did not result in Durand and all the others losing those precious
forty-eight hours of liberty, only their special guardian spirits were
in a position to explain, but they kept discreetly silent. The men in
Durand's room could truthfully declare that they had not had a thing to
do with the launching of that extraordinary projectile and also that
Durand was not in his room. It was not necessary to be too explicit,
they felt, and twenty minutes later all were over at Middie's Haven, Guy
Bennett and Richard Allyn, to Juno's secret disgust, having shifted into
civilian clothes as was the privilege of the first classmen "on leave,"
the difference between "leave" and "liberty" being very great indeed.
Stella, although admiring the uniforms, was tantalizingly uncritical.
The girls could never quite understand Stella's lack of enthusiasm over
the midshipmen.

And so had passed that joyful evening of the Christmas hop, the biggest
surprise of all awaiting them up at Round Bay upon the arrival of the
car at that station.

Nearly every horse and vehicle at Severndale had been pressed into
service to carry its guests from the station, and mounted on Shashai and
Star, Jess having brought them home for the holidays, were Happy and
Wheedles.

They had been unable to leave their ships as soon as Shorty, so taking a
later train had gone directly to Severndale. Their welcome by Peggy and
Polly was a royal one. When the party arrived at Severndale another
surprise greeted it as a very fat, very much-at-home Boston bull-terrier
came tumbling down the steps to greet them. To all but Polly he was an
alien and a stranger. Polly paused just one second, then cried as she
gathered the little beast into her arms, regardless of the evening wrap
she was wearing:

"Oh, Rhody! Rhody! who brought you?"

As though to answer her question, Rhody rolled his pop-eyes toward
Wheedles.

Of the happy Sunday and happier Christmas day space is too limited to
tell. At five P. M. Durand, Ralph, Jean Paul, Bert, Gordon and Doug were
obliged to bid their hostesses adieu and return to Annapolis, but each
day of Christmas week held its afternoon informal dance at the
auditorium, to which Mrs. Harold escorted her party, the mornings being
given over to work by the midshipmen, and to all manner of frolicing out
at Severndale by Happy, Wheedles, and Shortie, who seemed to have
returned to their fun-loving, care-free undergraduate days.

Yet how the boys had changed in their seven months as passed-midshipmen.
Although full of their fun and pranks, running Peggy and Polly
unmercifully, showing many little courtesies to Nelly whom all had grown
to love during the old days, and playing the gay gallants to the other
girls, there was a marked change from the happy-go-lucky Wheedles, the
madcap Happy, and the quaint, odd Shortie of Bancroft days.

But Shortie's interest was unquestionably centered on one golden-haired
little lady, and many a long ride did they take through the lovely
country about Severndale. Captain Stewart watched proceedings with a
wise smile. Gail and Shortie were prime favorites of his.

Happy and Wheedles had to do duty for many during the morning hours, but
the girls' especial escorts were punctual to the minute when the launch
from Severndale ran up to the Maryland Avenue float at three-forty-five
each afternoon, and they had no cause to complain of a lack of
attention, for many beside those who had been invited to Severndale were
eager for dances with little gypsy Rosalie, tall, stately Stella,
winsome Natalie, shy Marjorie or the scornful Juno, whose superiority
was considered a big joke.

During their week in Annapolis Helen and Lily Pearl had made tremendous
strides in a certain way. Foxy Grandpa had met a gushing, gracious
widow, who made Wilmot her home. That the lady's hair was of a shade
rarely produced by nature, and her complexion as unusual as her
innumerable puffs and curls, Foxy Grandpa was too dull of sight and mind
to perceive. He had gone through life somewhat side-tracked by more
brilliant, interesting people, and to find someone who flattered him and
fluttered about him with the coyness of eighteen years, when three times
eighteen would hardly have sufficed to number her milestones, went to
the old gentleman's head like wine, and he became Mrs. Ring's slave to
the vast amusement of everyone in Wilmot.

And Mrs. Ring promptly took Helen and Lily Pearl under her chaperonage,
introduced her son, a midshipman, to them, who in turn introduced his
room-mate, and a charming sextet was promptly formed. Poor Mrs. Vincent
was likely to have some lively experiences as the result of that
Christmas holiday, for Paul Ring and Charles Purdy were one rare pair of
susceptible simpletons, if nothing worse.

And so passed the week at Severndale for Mrs. Harold's party, Peggy once
more the gracious little chatelaine, sure of herself and entertaining
her guests like a little queen, a perfect wonder to the other girls.
Polly was happy as a grig, and all the others equally so. The older
people rejoiced in this rare reunion, and Captain Stewart each day grew
more devoted to his "Howland bunch" as he called them. The three girls
openly adored him, and dainty, quiet little Mrs. Howland beamed upon
everyone, little guessing how often the good Captain's eyes rested upon
her when she was unaware of it, or how he was learning to esteem the
mother of the three young girls whom he pronounced "jewels of the purest
water."

But that lies in the future. It is once more Saturday morning and once
more a big dance is pending to which all are going.

This time Shortie was taking Gail, Wheedles had asked Stella, Happy was
looking after Juno, Polly would go with Ralph, Peggy with Durand,
Rosalie would have cried her eyes out had any one save Jean Paul been
her gay gallant, Natalie was Bert's charge, Marjorie and big Doug had
become good chums, and, of course, Gordon Powers had made sure of
Nelly's company.

As this was to be the most magnificent affair of the holiday season, it
had been decided to drive into Annapolis directly after luncheon, attend
a matinee to be given at the one funny little theatre the town boasted,
and for which Mrs. Harold had secured three stalls in order to include
"the bunch," then to go to Wilmot to dine and dress, Mammy, Harrison and
Jerome having been intrusted with the transportation of the suitcases
containing the evening finery.

All went merry as a marriage bell. When the matinee ended the boys were
sent to the right about and the girls hurried to their rooms to make
their toilets, for a six-thirty dinner had been ordered and everybody
would be present.

As the girls, excepting Stella and Gail, were all under seventeen, and
still to make their formal bows to the big social world, their gowns
were all of short, dancing length, Juno's excepted. Juno was a good deal
of a law unto herself in the matter of raiment. Her father supplied her
with all the spending money she asked for, and charge accounts at
several of the large New York shops and at a fashionable modiste's,
completed her latitude. There would be very little left for Juno to
arrive at when she made her début.

There was no time for comment or correction when the girls emerged from
their rooms to accompany the older people to the dining-room, but at
sight of Juno's gown Mrs. Harold's color grew deeper, and for a moment
her teeth pressed her lower lip as though striving to hold back her
words. Juno and Rosalie shared one room but Rosalie had known nothing of
the contents of Juno's suitcase until it came time for them to dress,
then her black eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets, for
certainly Juno's gown was a startling creation for a school-girl.

Needless to add, the one which she was supposed to have taken to
Annapolis had been replaced by the present one at the last moment, and
Mrs. Vincent was not even aware that Juno possessed such a gown as the
one she was then wearing.

It was a beautiful pearl white charmeuse, cut low in front and with a V
in the back which clearly testified to the fact that the wearer was
_not_ afflicted with spinal curvature. Its trimmings were of exquisite
lace and crystals sufficiently elaborate for a bride, and the skirt was
one of the clinging, narrow, beaver-tailed train affairs which render
walking about as graceful as the gait of a hobbled-horse, and dancing an
utter impossibility unless the gown is held up. It was a most advanced
style, out-Parisianing the Parisian. When Juno prepared to get into it,
even Rosalie, charming beyond words in a pink chiffon, had cried:

"Why, Juno Gibson, it's lucky for you Mrs. Vincent isn't here. You'd
never go to the hop in that dress."

"Well, she isn't here, so calm yourself."

But the climax came as they were crossing Wilmot's reception hall on
their way up from dinner. Mrs. Harold was walking just behind her flock,
Peggy with her, fully conscious of the tension matters had assumed, for
modest little Peggy had been too closely associated with Polly and Mrs.
Harold not to have stored away considerable rational worldly knowledge
and some very sane ideas.

As they were about to ascend the stairs Juno with well affected
indifference caught up her train, thereby revealing the latest
idiosyncrasy of the feminine toilet. She wore silver slippers and black
silk tights and had quite dispensed with petticoats. The stage and the
Hotel Astor had developed Juno's knowledge of _la mode en règle_ at a
galloping pace.

Some of the girls gave little gasps, and amused smiles flitted across
the faces of the people within range. Mrs. Harold colored to her
forehead.

When they reached her corridor she said to Juno:

"Little girl, will you come into my room a moment?'

"Certainly, if you wish it, Mrs. Harold," was the reply in a tone which
meant that Juno had instantly donned her armor of repulsion

Seating herself upon a low chair, Mrs. Harold drew a hassock to her
side, motioning Juno to it. The seat might have been accepted with a
better grace. Mrs. Harold took the lovely, rebellious face in both her
hands, pressed her lips to the frowning forehead, and said gently:

"Honey, smoothe them out, please, and, remember that what I am about to
say to you is said because Peggy's and Polly's friends are mine and I
love them. Yes, and wish them to learn to love me if possible. Nothing
is dearer to me than my young people and I long to see all that is best
and finest developed in them. You have come to me as a guest, dear, but
you have also come to me as my foster-daughter pro tem, and as such,
claim my affectionate interest in your well-being. Mother and daughter
are precious names."

There was a slight pause, in which Juno gave an impatient toss of her
handsome head and asked in a bitterly ironical voice:

"Are they? I am afraid I'm not very well prepared to judge."

Mrs. Harold looked keenly at the girl, a light beginning to dawn upon
her, though she had heard little of Juno's history.

"Dear heart, forgive me if I wounded you. It was unintentional. I know
nothing of earlier experiences, you know. You are just Polly's friend to
me. Perhaps some day, if you can learn to love and trust me, you will
let me understand why I have wounded. That is for another time and
season. Just now we have but a few moments in which to 'get near' each
other, as my boys would say, and I am going to make a request which may
displease you. My little girl, will you accept some suggestions
regarding your toilet?"

"I dare say you think it is too grown-up for me. I know I'm not supposed
to wear a low gown or a train."

"I'm afraid I should be tempted to say the gown had been sent to you
before it had grown-up enough," smiled Mrs. Harold. "And certainly some
of its accessories must have been overlooked or forgotten altogether."

"Why, nobody wears anything but tights under a ball gown nowadays. How
would it fit with skirts all bunched up under it? As to the neck, it is
no lower than one sees at the opera at home. I know a dozen people who
wear gowns made in exactly the same way, and Madam Marie would expire if
I did not follow her dictates--why, she would never do a bit more work
for me."

"Then I beg of you, outrage the lady's ideas forthwith, for--" Mrs.
Harold laid her hand upon Juno's--"no dressmaker living should have the
power to place a refined, modest little girl in a false position, or
lower her womanly standards and ideals. Not only hers, dear, but what is
vastly more far-reaching, the ideals of the boys and men with whom she
is thrown. You are too young to fully appreciate this; you could hardly
interpret some of the comments which are sure to be made upon the
ballroom floor from those who are somewhat lacking in finer feeling; nor
can you gauge the influence a truly modest girl--I do not mean an
ignorantly prudish one, for a limited knowledge of the facts of life is
a dangerous thing--has over such lads as you meet."

"You have a beautiful hand, dear," continued Mrs. Harold, taking Juno's
tapering, perfectly manicured fingers in hers. "It is faultless. Make it
as strong as faultless, for remember--nothing has greater power
figuratively. You hold more in this pretty hand than equal franchise can
ever confer upon you. See that right now you help to make the world
purer--your sisters who would have the ballot are using this crying need
as their strongest argument--by avoiding in word or deed anything which
can dethrone you in the esteem of the other sex, whether young or
mature, for you can never know how far-reaching it will prove. You think
I am too sweeping in my assertion? That you never have and never could
do anything to invite criticism? Dear heart, not intentionally, I know,
but in the very fact that you are innocent of the influence which--say
such a gown as you are now wearing, for an illustration--may have, lies
the harm you do. If you fully understand you would sooner go to the hop
tonight gowned in sackcloth; of this I am certain."

For a moment Juno did not speak. This little human craft was battling
with conflicting currents and there seemed no pilot in sight. Then she
turned suddenly and placing her arms about Mrs. Harold, laid her head
upon the shoulder which had comforted so many and began to sob softly.

"My little girl! My dear, dear little girl, do not take it so deeply to
heart. I did not mean to wound you so cruelly. Forgive me, dear."

"You haven't wounded me. It isn't that. But I--I--don't seem to know
where I'm at. No one has ever spoken to me in this way. I'm often
scolded and lectured and stormed at, but no one cares enough to make me
understand. Please show me how. Please tell me. It seems like a glimpse
into a different world."

"First let me dry the tears I have been the cause of bringing to your
eyes--if my boys see traces of them I shall be brought to an account.
Then we will remedy what might have done harm."

As she spoke Mrs. Harold took a bit of absorbent cotton, soaked it in
rose water and bathed the lovely soft, brown eyes. Juno smiled up at
her, then nestled against her, again.

"My new little foster-daughter," said Mrs. Harold, kissing the velvety
cheeks.

     "'It's beauty, truly blent, whose red and white,
     Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.'

Keep it so--it needs no aid--we shall learn to know each other better.
You will come again--yes, often--and where I can help, count upon
me--always? And now I'll play maid."

Ten minutes later when Juno entered the living-room, an exquisite bit of
Venetian lace filled in the V at the back of the bodice; the softest
white maline edged the front, and when, she raised her train a lace
petticoat which any girl would have pronounced "too sweet for words"
floated like sea-foam about her slender ankles.

No comments were made and all set forth for the hop. And was the
experiment a red letter one? Well!



CHAPTER XV

IN SPRING TERM


"Well, we all came back to earth with a thud, didn't we? But, was there
ever anything like it while it lasted," ended Natalie with a rapturous
sigh.

"And do you suppose there can ever be anything like it again?" Rosalie's
tone suggested funeral wreaths and deep mourning, but she continued to
brush her hair with Peggy's pretty ivory-handled brush, and pose before
Peggy's mirror. The girls were not supposed to dress in each other's
rooms but suppositions frequently prove fallacies in a girl's school and
these girls had vast mutual interests past and pending.

Several weeks had passed since the Christmas holidays, but the joys of
that memorable house-party were still very vivid memories and recalled
almost daily.

It was the hour before dinner. The girls were expected to be ready
promptly at six-fifteen, but dressing hour might more properly have been
termed gossiping hour, since it was more often given over to general
discussions, Stella's pretty room, or Peggy's and Polly's, proving as a
rule a rendezvous. All of the Severndale house party were assembled at
the moment, and two or three others beside, among them Isabel, Helen and
Lily Pearl.

"I hope there may be a good many times like it again," said Peggy
warmly. "It was just lovely to have you all down there and Daddy Neil
was the happiest thing I've ever seen. I wish we could have him at
Easter, but he will be far away when Easter comes."

"Shall you go home at Easter?" asked Helen, flickering hopes of an
invitation darting across her mind.

"I hardly think so. You see it is only two weeks off and the Little
Mother has not said anything about it, has she, Polly?"

"No, in her last letter she said she thought she'd come down to
Washington for Easter week and stop at the Willard, but it is not
settled yet. I'd rather be in Annapolis at Easter and go for some of our
long rides. Wasn't it fun to have Shashai and Silver Star back there
during our visit! I believe they and Tzaritza and Jess had the very time
of their young--and old--lives. And wasn't Tzaritza regal with Rhody?"

"It was the funniest thing I've ever seen," laughed Stella. "That dog
acted exactly like a royal princess entertaining a happy-go-lucky
jackie. Rhody's life on board the _Rhode Island_ since you and Ralph
rescued him seems to have been one gay and festive experience for a
Boston bull pup."

"It surely has," concurred Polly. "Snap says he's just wise to
everything, and did you ever see anything so absurd as those clown
tricks the jackies taught him?"

"I think you are all perfectly wonderful people, dogs and horses
included," was Rosalie's climax of eulogy, if rather peculiar and
comprehensive.

"Well, we had one royal good time and we are not likely to forget it
either. Peggy, weren't you petrified when you struck 'eight bells' at
the hop, for the death of the old year? Goodness, when those lights
began to go out, and everybody stopped dancing I felt so queer. And when
'taps' sounded little shivery creeps went all up and down my spine, and
you struck eight bells so beautifully! But reveille drove me almost
crazy. When the lights flashed on again I didn't know whether I wanted
to laugh or cry I was so nervous," was Natalie's reminiscence.

"It was the most solemn thing I ever heard and the most beautiful," said
Marjorie softly. "It made me homesick, and yet home doesn't mean
anything to me; this is the only one I have known since I was eight
years old."

"Eight years in one place and a school at that!" cried Juno. "Why, I
should have done something desperate long before four had passed. Girls,
think of being in a school eight years." Juno's tone implied the horrors
of the Bastile.

"If you had no other, what could you do?" Marjorie's question was asked
with a smile which was sadder than tears could have been.

Juno shrugged her shoulders, but Polly slipped over to Marjorie's side
and with one of Polly's irresistible little mannerisms, laid her arm
across her shoulder, as hundreds of times the boys in Bancroft
demonstrate their good fellowship for each other. Another girl would
probably have kissed her. Polly was not given to kisses. Then she asked:

"Won't your father come East this spring for commencement? You said you
hoped he would.

"I've hoped so every spring, but when he writes he says it takes four
whole months to reach Washington from that awful place in the Klondyke.
I wish he had never heard of it."

"I'm so glad you went to Severndale with us. We must never let her be
lonely or homesick again, Peggy."

"Not while Severndale has a spare hammock," nodded Peggy.

Marjorie was more or less of a mystery to most of the girls, but the
greatest of all to Mrs. Vincent to whom she had come the year the school
was opened. Mrs. Vincent had more than once said to herself: "Well, I
certainly have four oddities to deal with: _Who_ is Marjorie? She is one
of the sweetest, most lovable girls I've ever met, but I don't really
know a single thing about her. She has come to me from the home of a
perfectly reliable Congregational minister, but even he confesses that
he knows nothing beyond the fact that she is the daughter of a man lost
to civilization in the remotest regions of the Klondyke. He says he
believes her mother is dead. Heigho! And Juno? What is likely to become
of _her_, poor child? What does become of all the children of divorced
parents in this land of divorces? Oh, why can't the parents think of the
children they have brought into the world but who did not ask to come?

"And Rosalie? What is to become of that little pepper pot with all her
loving impulses and self-will? I believe her father has visited her for
about one hour in each of the four years she has been here, and I also
believe his visits do more harm than good, they seem to enrage the child
so. Of course, it is all wounded pride and affection, but who is to
correct it? And this year comes Stella, the biggest puzzle of all. Her
father? Well, I dare say it is all right, but he sometimes acts more
like--" but at this point Mrs. Vincent invariably had paused abruptly
and turned her attention to other matters.

"Can't the boys ever get leave to visit their friends?" asked Lily Pearl.
"I think it is perfectly outrageous to keep them stived up in that
horrid place year in and year out for four years with only four months
to call their own in one-thousand-four-hundred-and-sixty days!"

"Lily's been doing the multiplication table," cried Rosalie.

"Well, I counted and I think it's awful--simply awful!" lamented Lily.
"I'd give anything to see Charlie Purdy and have another of those
ravishing dances. I can just feel his arms about me yet, and the way he
snuggles your head up against him and nestles his face down in your
hair--m--m--m! Why, his clothes smell so deliciously of cigarette smoke!
I can smell it yet!"

A howl of laughter greeted this rhapsody from all but Helen, who bridled
and protested:

"Oh, you girls may laugh, but you had to walk a chalk line under the
eyes of a half dozen chaperones every minute. Lily and I got acquainted
with our friends."

"Well, I hope we did have a chaperone or two," was Polly's retort. She
had vivid memories of some of the scenes upon which she and Ralph had
inadvertently blundered during the afternoon informals of Christmas
week. The auditorium in the academic building where informals are held,
has many secluded nooks. Upon one occasion she had run upon Helen and
Paul Ring, the former languishing in the latter's arms. Perhaps mamma
would not have been so ready to intrust her dear little daughter to Foxy
Grandpa's protection had she dreamed of the existence of Mamma Ring and
dear Paul.

At all this sentimental enthusiasm Stella had looked on indulgently and
now laughed outright, "What silly kids you two are," she said.

"Well, I don't see that you had such a ravishing time, anyway," cried
Helen.

"Why, I'm sure Mr. Allyn was as attentive as anyone could be. He was on
hand every minute to take me wherever I wanted to go." Stella's
expression was quizzical and made Helen furious.

"Oh, a paid guide could have done as much I don't doubt."

"Father _is_ a little fussy at times, so perhaps it is just as well. You
see I should not have been at Severndale at all if he had not been
called to Mexico on business. So I'd better be thankful for what fun I
did get. But there goes the first bell. Better get down toward the
dining-room, girls," laughed Stella good-naturedly, and set the example.
A moment later the room was deserted by all but Helen who lingered at
the mirror. When the others were on their way down stairs she slipped to
Nelly's room and took from her desk a sheet of the monogram paper and an
envelope, which Mrs. Harold had given her at Christmas. As she passed
her own room she hid them in her desk for future use. After dinner when
the evening mail was delivered, Helen received a letter bearing the
Annapolis postmark. Nelly had one from her father. As she read it her
face wore a peculiar expression. The letter stated that her father was
coming to Washington to consult with Shelby concerning a matter of
business connected with Severndale's paddock. As Nelly ceased reading
she glanced up from her letter to find Peggy watching her narrowly.
Peggy had also received a letter from Dr. Llewellyn in which he
mentioned the fact that Bolivar felt it advisable to run down to
Washington. In an instant the whole situation flashed across Peggy's
quick comprehension.

During the girl's visit at Severndale Jim Bolivar had never come to the
house. Nelly had many times slipped away for quiet little talks with her
father in their own cottage and had asked him more than once why he did
not come up to the big house to see her, and his reply had invariably
been:

"Honey, I don't belong there. No, 'tain't no use to argue,--I don't.
Your mother would have; she come of quality stock, and what in the
Lord's name she ever saw in me I've been, a-guessin' an' a-guessin' for
the last eighteen year."

"But Dad, Peggy Stewart has never, never made either you or me feel the
least shade of difference in our stations. Neither has Polly Howland.
They couldn't be lovelier to me, though I know you have never been at
Severndale as guests have been there. But it has never seemed to strike
me until now. And down at the school the girls are awfully nice to me;
at least, most of them are. Those who are patronizing are that way
because they are so to everybody. But the really nice girls are lovely,
and I am sure they'd never think of being rude to you."

"Little girl, listen to your old Dad: There are some things in this
world not to be got around. I'm one of 'em. Peggy Stewart and Polly
Howland are thoroughbreds an' thoroughbreds ain't capable of no low-down
snobbishness. They know their places in the world and there's nothing
open to discussion. An' they're too fine-grained to scratch other folks
the wrong way. But, some of them girls up yonder are cross-breeds--oh,
yes, I've been a-watchin' 'em an' I know,--tain't no use to argue. They
kin prance an' cavort an' their coats are sleek an' shinin', but don't
count on 'em too much when it comes right down to disposition an'
endurance, 'cause they'll disappoint you. I ain't never told you honey,
that your mother was a Bladen. Well, she was. Some day I'm going to tell
you how she fell in love with a good-lookin' young skalawag by the name
o' Jim Bolivar. He comes o' pretty decent stock too, only he hadn't
sense enough to stay at St. John's where his dad put him, but had to go
rampagin' all over the country till he'd clean forgot any bringin'-up
he'd ever had, and landed up as a sort o' bailiff, as they call 'em over
in the old country, on an estate down on the eastern shore. Then he met
Helen Bladen and 's sure's you live she 'changed the name and not the
letter and changed for a heap sight worse 'n the better' when she eloped
with me. Thank the Lord she didn't live long enough to see the worst,
and you hardly remember her at all. But that's my pretty history,--a
no-count, ne'er do well, and if it weren't for Peggy Stewart, God bless
her! you'd a been lyin' 'long side o' yo' ma out yonder this minute, for
all I'd ever a-done to keep you here, I reckon, much less give you the
education you're a-gettin' now. No, honey, I won't go up to the great
house. If I'd a-done right when I was a boy I'd be sittin' right up
there with the rest o' that bunch o' people this minute. But I was bound
to have my fling, and sow my wild oats and now I can have the pleasure
of harvestin' my crop. It ought to be thistles, for if ever there was a
jackass that same was Jim Bolivar."

Nelly had listened to the pitiful tale without comment, but when it
ended she placed her arms about her father's neck and sobbed softly. She
had never mentioned this little talk to anyone, but it was seldom far
from her thoughts, and now her father was coming to Washington.

Peggy slipped her arm about her and asked:

"What makes you look so sober, Nellibus?"

"Because I'm a silly, over-sensitive goose, I dare say."

Peggy looked puzzled.

Nelly handed her her father's letter. Peggy read it, then turned to look
straight into Nelly's eyes, her own growing dark as she raised her head
in the proud little poise which made her so like her mother's portrait.

"When he comes I think matters will adjust themselves," was all she
said.

The following Friday afternoon Jim Bolivar was ushered into the pretty
little reception room by Horatio Hannibal, who went in quest of Nelly.
As she had no idea of the hour her father would arrive, she was
preparing to go for a ride with a number of the girls, for the day was a
heavenly one; a late March spring day in Washington.

"Miss Bol'var, yo' pa in de 'ception room waitin' fo' to see yo', Miss,"
announced Horatio.

"I'll go right down. Sorry I can't go with you, girls."

"May we come and see him just a minute before we start!" asked Peggy
quickly, while Polly came eagerly to her side.

"Of course you may. Dad will love to see you," was Nelly's warm
response.

"We won't keep you waiting long, girls," said Peggy, "we'll join you at
the porte cochere."

Arrayed in their habits, Peggy, Polly and Nelly hurried away.

"Wonder what he looks like," said Juno idly as she drew on her
gauntlets.

"Bet he's nice if he's anything like Nelly," said Rosalie.

"Isn't it funny you girls never saw him while you were at Severndale?"
said Lily Pearl.

"Perhaps he's not the kind Nelly Bolivar cares to have seen," was
Helen's amiable remark, accompanied by a shrug and a knowing look.

"Why, what do you mean, Helen?" asked Natalie with some spirit.

"Just what I say. _I_ believe Nelly Bolivar is as poor as Job's turkey
and that Peggy Stewart pays all 'her expenses here. And I know she wears
Peggy's cast-off clothes. I saw Peggy's name in one of her coats. You
know Peggy has her name and the maker's woven right into the linings.
Just you wait and see what her father looks like and then see if I'm far
wrong."

"Why, she's nothing better than a charity pupil if that's true," sneered
Lily Pearl, who never failed to follow Helen's lead.

"If Mrs. Vincent opens her school to such girls I think it would be well
for our parents to investigate the matter," was Isabel's superior
criticism.

"Yes, you'd better. Mother would be delighted to have an extra room or
two; she has so many applicants all the time," flashed Natalie, her
cheeks blazing.

"Children, children, don't grow excited. Wait until you find out what
you're fuming about," said Stella in the tone which always made them
feel like kids, Rosalie insisted. "And come on down. The horses have
been waiting twenty minutes already and Mrs. Vincent will have a word or
two to say to us if we don't watch out."

As they crossed the hall to the porte cochere, Peggy, Polly and Nelly
came from the reception room, Mr. Bolivar with them. The lively
curiosity upon the girls' faces was rather amusing. Juno favored him
with a well-cultivated Fifth Avenue stare. Helen's nose took a higher
tilt if possible. Lily Pearl giggled as usual. Stella smiled at the
girls and said: "Glad you're coming with us." Isabel murmured "Horrors!"
under her breath and waddled with what she believed to be dignity toward
the door. Marjorie only smiled, but Rosalie and Natalie stopped, the
former crying impulsively:

"Introduce your father to us, Nelly; we want to know him."

The man the girls looked upon had changed a good deal from the
despondent Jim Bolivar whom Peggy had seen sitting upon the upturned box
in Market Square so long ago. Prosperity and resultant comforts had done
a good deal for the despairing man. There were still some traces of the
handsome Jim Bolivar with whom pretty, romantic Helen Bladen had eloped,
though the intermediate years of sorrow and misfortune had changed that
dapper young beau into a careless, hopeless pessimist. What the end
might have been but for Peggy is hard to guess, but the past two years
had made him think and think hard too. Though still slipshod of speech
as the result of associating with his humbler neighbors, he was
certainly making good, and few lapses occurred as he shook hands with
Nelly's friends and then went out to help them mount. In his dark gray
suit, Alpine hat and his gray gloves, something of the gentleman which
was in him became evident.

He helped each girl upon her horse, greeted Junius Augustus, patted
Shashai, Star and Tzaritza; deplored poor Columbine's shorn glories,
smiled an odd smile at Isabel's bulky figure upon the more bulky
Senator, then said:

"I'll see you when you come back, honey. I've got to have a talk with
Shelby. Some things is--are--bothering me back yonder. Have a fine
gallop. It's a prime day for it. Good-bye, young ladies," and raising
his hat with something of the gallantry of the old Bolivar he followed
Junius toward the stables.

That night Mrs. Vincent asked him to dine with her, but he declined on
the score of an engagement with a friend. He and Shelby dined in
Washington and during that meal he made just one allusion to Nelly and
her surroundings.

"It's all very well for a man to make a plumb fool of himself and waste
his life if he's a-mind to, but he ain't got any business to drag other
folks along with him. If I hadn't a-been a fool among fools I might
a-been sittin' beside my little girl this minute, and not be scared to
either, Shelby. My dad used to say something about 'man being his own
star,' I don't recollect it all, but I know it meant he could be one of
the first magnet if he'd a mind to. I set out to be a comet, I reckon,
all hot air tail, and there isn't much of me left worth looking at."

"How old are you!"

"Forty-four."

"Well, you've got twenty-five years to the good yet. Now get busy for
the little girl's sake."

"Shake," cried Jim Bolivar, extending his hand across the table.

Meanwhile back yonder at the school, Friday night being "home letters
night" the girls were all busily writing, but Helen kept the monogram
upon her paper carefully concealed.

[Illustration]



CHAPTER XVI

A MIDNIGHT SENSATION


But two weeks remained of the spring term. School would close on May
twenty-eighth. Already Washington had become insufferably warm, and even
Columbia Heights School situated upon its hill, was very trying. The
girls were almost too inert to work and spent every possible moment out
of doors.

The moment school ended Peggy, Polly and Nelly would go back to
Annapolis and Rosalie was to go with, them as Peggy's guest for a month.
Mrs. Harold had invited Marjorie, Natalie, and Juno to be Polly's guests
for June week under the joint chaperonage of herself and Mrs. Howland,
after which plans were being laid for the entire party to go to
Provincetown with "all the Howland outfit," as Captain Stewart and Mr.
Harold phrased it, there to live in a bungalow as long as the Atlantic
fleet made that jumping-off place its rendezvous. It bid fair to be a
tremendous house party, though the lads whom the girls had grown to
know best would not be there. The practice squadron was going to Europe
this summer. However, "the old guard" as Happy, Wheedles and Shortie, as
well as dozens of others from earlier classes were called, would be
there and things were sure to be lively. But all this lies in the
future.

Helen and Lily Pearl had been invited to Annapolis for June week, by
Mrs. Ring, and were to go to the June ball with dear Paul and Charles
Purdy. They had not been asked to dance the German since they had made
no special friends among the first classmen. Peggy and Polly were to
dance it, one with Dick Allyn, the other with his room-mate, Calhoun
Byrd, who, in Bancroft's vernacular "spooned on Ralph" and had always
considered Polly "a clipper." Juno was to go with Guy Bennett, Nelly,
Rosalie, Marjorie and Natalie had, alack! to look on from the gallery,
escorted by second-classmen.

But now of immediate happenings at Columbia Heights School.

It had been arranged that Shelby should take Shashai, Star and Tzaritza
back to Severndale on the twenty-second, as it was now far too warm to
ride in Washington. Moreover, Shelby's engagement with Mrs. Vincent
expired May fifteenth and he was anxious to get back to Severndale. Then
at the last moment, Mrs. Vincent decided to send all the saddle horses
to Severndale for the summer months and keep only the carriage horses
and the white groom at the school. So Shelby wrote Jim Bolivar that
"he'd better come along down and get on the job too." Consequently,
about a week after the girl's visit to Annapolis and Rosalie's escapade,
Jim Bolivar arrived at the school and took up his quarters in the pretty
little cottage provided for Shelby. He expected to spend about two days
helping to get matters closed up for the summer, then start on with
Junius Augustus in charge of Columbine, Lady Belle, the Senator, and
Jack-o'-Lantern, Shelby following a day later with Shashai, Star, Madame
Goldie and Old Duke. So far so good out in the stables. Within the
school Nelly was learning the difference between being the daughter of
patrician blood come upon misfortune, and cheerfully making the best of
things, and some extremely plebeian blood slopped unexpectedly into
fortune, and trying to forget its origin. Had not Nelly possessed such
loyal old friends as Peggy and Polly, and made such stanch new ones as
Rosalie, Natalie, Stella and Marjorie, her position might have been a
very trying one. And now only eight days remained before vacation would
begin. Already the girls were in a flutter for June week at Annapolis.
Would it be fair? Would it be scorching hot? Would there be moon-light
nights?

"There'll be moon-light if the old lady has half a chance to show
herself," said Polly's assured voice and nod.

"We had a new moon on the eighteenth," said Peggy. "That means brim-full
in June week, and, oh, girls, won't it be fairy land! How I wish,
though, you were all to dance the German. I can't help feeling selfish
to leave you out of that fun."

"You aren't leaving us out. We understand that even the Little Mother
can't ask her boys to take a girl to the German! But we aren't likely to
pine away with all the other fun afoot," cried Natalie gaily, doing a
pirouette across the room just by way of relieving pent-up anticipation.

"Helen said she might be invited to dance the German after all. Dear
Paul's Mamma has a grease with a first classman," laughed Rosalie.

"When I see her on the floor I'll believe it," said Juno.

"Where is Helen tonight?" asked Marjorie.

"Up in her room. Lily has a sick headache and she went up with her.
Guess that cousin of Helen's who came down from Baltimore, Foxy
Grandpa's daughter, or niece, or something, I believe, and spent this
afternoon with her, gave those girls too many chocolates. Wasn't she
the limit? And big? Well, I'll wager that woman was six feet tall, and
she was made up perfectly outrageously. Her skin was fair enough, and
her color lovely and I never saw such teeth, if they weren't store ones,
but there was something about the lower part of her face that looked
queer. Did you notice it, girls?" asked Polly.

"I did. There was such a funny dull tinge, like a man who had just been
shaved," commented Rosalie, with a puzzled frown.

"Her voice struck me funniest. Do you remember Fräulein Shultz who was
here the first year school opened, Marjorie?" asked Natalie.

"Yes, we used to call her Herr Shultz. Such a voice you never heard,
girls!"

"Well, this cousin's was exactly like Herr Shultz."

"Her clothes were the climax with me. I believe she must have been on
the stage sometime. Oh, yes, they were up-to-date enough, but, so sort
of--of--tawdry," criticised Juno.

"Do you know, she reminded me of somebody I know but who it is I just
can't think," and Peggy puckered her forehead into wrinkles.

"Oh!" cried Nelly, then stopped short.

"What's the matter? Sat on a pin?" asked Rosalie, laughing.

"Something made me jump," answered Nelly, pulling her skirt as though in
search of the pin Rosalie had suggested. Then in a moment she said:

"Reckon I'll go in, girls, I've got to send a note home by father and he
starts pretty soon."

"Why do they start at night?" asked Juno.

"Cooler traveling for the horses. They leave here about eight, travel
about nine miles an hour, for two hours, stop at ---- for the night,
start again at seven in the morning, and will reach Severndale by ten
o'clock at latest. It seems like a long trip, but that makes it an easy
one. Shelby will start tomorrow or next day. And won't all those horses
have the time of their lives! I am so glad that they're to be there,"
explained Peggy.

"So is mother, Peggy Stewart," cried Natalie.

Meanwhile Nelly had gone to her room. It was next Helen's and Lily's. On
beyond was Stella's sitting-room. Nelly roomed with a girl who had been
called home by illness in her family. Consequently Nelly now had the
room to herself. She wrote her note and then went to find Mrs. Vincent
to ask permission to run out to the stables to give it to her father.

As she passed Helen's and Lily's door she heard them whispering together
and also heard a deeper voice. Whose could it be? It was so unusual
that she paused a moment in the dimly lighted hall. She did not mean to
be an eavesdropper, but she thought all the girls from the west wing
were down on the terrace where she had left them that perfect May night.
They had gone out there immediately dinner ended, for study hour had
lately been held from five to seven on account of the warm evenings,
Mrs. Vincent objecting to the lights which made the house almost
suffocating.

Presently the deep-voiced whisper was heard again. Nelly started as
though from an electric shock. Had Helen's cousin returned, but when?
And that whisper was a revelation. Then she went on her way. Consent was
promptly given and Nelly ran across the shadow-laden lawn to the
stables. She found her father, Shelby and the men just preparing to set
forth. Her father was to ride the Senator to set the pace. Junius rode
Jack-o'-Lantern. Columbine and Lady Belle were to be led.

As Nelly drew near, Columbine neighed a welcome.

"What's brought you down here, honey?" asked Bolivar. "I was going to
stop at the house to say good-bye."

"I wanted to see you alone a minute, daddy."

"Go 'long for a little private confab with her, Bolivar. All right,
Nelly, no hurry," said Shelby genially.

The thin sickle of the new moon cast very little light as Nelly and her
father walked a short distance down the path, Nelly, talking earnestly
in a low voice. When she ceased Bolivar said:

"Oh, you must be mistaken, Nelly, why, I never heard of such a fool
stunt; yet that kid's capable of most any, I understand. Of course, I'll
take the hint and watch out, but just like you say, it's better to keep
it dark. It'd only stir up a terrible talk and make Mrs. Vincent's
school,--well; she don't want that sort of thing happening. Run 'long
back and keep your eyes open. Shall I say anything to Shelby?"

"Not a word, daddy! Not one word! Just get him out of the way if you
can."

"That's easy. He's going to ride into the city when I start and none of
the boys sleep in the stable. I kind of suspicion your plan but I won't
ask no more questions."

At eight-thirty the first "batch o' beasties" "shoved off." The girls
ran down the driveway to bid them good-bye and the horses seemed to
understand it all perfectly. Then Bolivar and his charges, accompanied
by Shelby, set forth upon their ways. It was a wonderful, star-sprinkled
night, though the moon had sunk below the horizon. When they had gone a
little way Shelby bade them good-bye and good-luck and turned into the
broad boulevard leading into Washington. Bolivar followed the quieter
road on the outskirts of the city. Presently he said to Junius:

"Land o' love, I'd as soon ride an elephant as this horse. His back's as
broad. Hold on a minute, I'm going to shift my saddle to Columbine. I
know her and she knows me, don't you, old girl?"

"She's de quality, sure," agreed Junius.

"This is something like," sighed Bolivar, falling easily into
Columbine's smooth fox-trot. They had gone perhaps a mile when Bolivar
suddenly clapped his hand to his breast-pocket and pulled up short.

"What done happen, Mr. Bol'var?" asked Junius.

"I'm seven kinds of a fool. Left my wallet in that old coat Shelby let
me wear round the stable! Now that's the limit, ain't it? I got to go
back. Ain't got a cent with me. You ride on slow and stop at the Pine
Cliff Inn up the road a-piece, and wait there till I come. Columbine's
fresh as a daisy and the three miles or so will be just a warm-up for
her this night. Now wait there. Don't budge a step till I come."

"I'll do like you say."

Jim Bolivar started back slowly, but once beyond Junius' sight gave
Columbine the rein and was soon within a quarter of a mile of Columbia
Heights School.

Meanwhile, in that usually well-ordered establishment some startling
events were taking place.

When Nelly left her father she stopped on the terrace to talk a few
minutes with the girls. It was then after nine o'clock but during these
long, sultry evenings Mrs. Vincent allowed the girls to remain upon the
terrace until ten.

Examinations were over, there was no further academic work to be done
and most of the preparations for commencement were completed. Indeed,
most of the little girls had already left, and several of the older ones
also. A general exodus takes place from Washington early in May and the
schools close early.

"Whow, I'm sleepy tonight," laughed Nelly, suppressing a yawn. "Reckon
I'll go upstairs. Good-night, everybody."

"You'll smother and roast if you go to bed so early, Nell. Stay here
with us," cried Polly, catching Nelly's skirt and trying to pull her
down beside her.

"Can't. I'd drop asleep right on the terrace," and turning Nelly ran
in-doors. Once in her room she speedily shifted into her linen riding
suit, then slipping down the back stairs, sped across the dark lawn to
the stables. They were dark and silent. Not a soul was in Shelby's
cottage where the stable key was kept and a moment later Nelly had taken
it from its hook and was at the stable door. A bubble of nickers, or the
soft munching of feeding horses, fell upon her ears. Star knew her voice
as well as Polly's and Peggy's. Nelly went straight to Star's stall. In
less time than it takes to tell it she had him saddled, bridled and led
softly out upon the lawn. Keeping within the shadows of the trees she
led him to a thick pine grove and taking his velvety muzzle in her hands
planted a kiss upon it as she whispered:

"Now stand stock still and don't make a sound. I may need you and I may
not. If I do it will be in a hurry and you will have to make time." Then
she slipped back into the house.

But we must go back to the invalid, Lily Pearl, and her devoted
attendant in the west wing. Also the cousin. Ten minutes after Nelly had
left her room to carry her note to her father, Helen went to Mrs.
Vincent's study.

"Oh, Mrs. Vincent, cousin Pauline came back to see if she had left her
engagement ring in my room. She did not miss it until she got back to
her friends' house and then she was frightened nearly to death and came
all the way back here."

"Couldn't she have telephoned?

"I suppose so, but she never takes it off except to wash her hands. She
left it on my dresser. She is going back now. May I walk to the gate
with her?"

"Yes, but come directly back, Helen. How is Lily?"

"She's just fallen asleep. Thank you, Mrs. Vincent."

A few moments later Helen and her cousin left the house but not by the
door giving upon the terrace. The side door answered far better. Then
slipping around the house they paused beneath Stella's balcony and the
cousin gave a low whistle. Instantly, Lily Pearl's head was bobbed up
over the railing and she whispered:

"Oh, take it quick! I hear Peggy's voice down in the hall!" and a
suitcase was lowered from the balcony, the cousin's strong right arm
grasped it, as the cousin's deep voice said:

"You're a dead game sport, Lil. You bet we'll remember this."

But Lil did not wait to hear more. She fled to her room pell mell, not
aware that in her flight she had overturned a tiny fairy night-lamp
which Stella always kept burning in her room at night. Quickly
undressing, Lily dove into bed and drawing the covers over her head was
instantly sound asleep. The voice which had alarmed her soon died away
as Peggy rejoined her friends upon the terrace.

Helen and the cousin had meanwhile reached the gate and also a cab which
waited there, and were soon bowling along toward Washington.

And what of Nelly? As she was returning to the house she caught sight of
the two figures hurrying toward the main gate. Back she sped to Star,
and mounting him, rode along the soft turf as silently as a shadow,
until she saw the two figures enter the cab.

For a moment she was baffled. What could she do alone? She knew it would
be worse than senseless to attempt to stop the runaways unaided. She
must have help. Yet if she lost sight of them what might not take place?
She had long since recognized Paul Ring in spite of his make-up. She had
seen him too many times in the Masquerader's Shows at Annapolis. For a
short time she flitted behind the cab like an avenging shadow. It would
never do to let Helen make such an idiot of herself, and bring notoriety
upon the school where Peggy and Polly were pupils, or so humiliate Mrs.
Vincent and Natalie. Nelly did some quick thinking. There was but one
road for the elopers to follow. Her father, to whom she had confided
her suspicions and begged him to aid her, must be on his way back by
this time. Wheeling Star she shot back as she had come, and making a
wide detour around Columbia Heights School, put Star to his best paces.
Half a mile beyond the school she met her father coming at a fairly good
clip.

Ten words were enough.

"Thank the Lord we're riding Empress stock!" ejaculated Bolivar as he
and Peggy gave the two beautiful creatures their heads and they settled
into the long, low stride which seems never to tire, muscles working
swiftly and smoothly as the machinery of a battleship, heads thrust
forward, nostrils wide and breathing deep breaths to the rhythmic
heart-throbs. But the runaways had a good start.

Presently Bolivar said:

"If Shelby has ridden easy he's somewheres ahead on that selfsame road."

"Oh, dad, if he only is!"

"Well, by the god Billiken he is! Look yonder."

A more dumbfounded man than Shelby it would have been hard to overtake.

"Had he seen the cab?"

"Certain. It was hiking along ahead. Passed him just a little time
before, the horse a-lather. Wondered who the fools were."

"Well, you know now. How far ahead do you reckon they are?"

"Quarter mile beyond that turn if the horse ain't fell dead. Let me
break away, overhaul them and then you two come in at the death," he
laughed.

Shelby was riding Shashai, and at his word a black streak passed out of
sight around the bend of the boulevard. Star and Columbine chafed to
follow, but their riders held them back for a time.

True enough, as Shelby had said, the cab was still pounding along toward
Washington, though the poor horse was nearly done up.

Shelby came abreast the poor panting beast, leaned quietly over, caught
the bridle and cried, "Whoa!" The horse was only too delighted to oblige
him. Not so "Cabby."

With wrath and ire he rose to mete out justice to this highwayman. Had
the butt of his whip hit Shelby he would have seen more stars than
twinkled overhead. But it didn't. It was caught in one hand, given a
dexterous twist and sent flying into the road as Shelby said in his
quiet drawl:

"Don't get excited. At least, don't let _me_ excite you. I ain't got
nothing against you, but you can't take those 'slopers no further this
night."

"'Lopers nothin'! Me fares is two ladies on their ways to the Willard.
'Tis a niece and aunt they are."

"Say, you're easy. I thought you fellows wise to most any game. Niece
and aunt! Shucks! Come 'long out aunt, or Cousin Pauline, or whatever
you are, and you, Miss Doolittle, just don't do nothin' but live up to
that name you've got. Lord, whoever named you knew his or her business
all right, all right! Here come Bolivar and his daughter to bear a hand.
Now don't set out to screech and carry on, 'cause if you do you'll make
more trouble and it looks like you'd made a-plenty a-ready. And you shut
up!" cried Shelby, now thoroughly roused, as Paul Ring, his disguise
removed and stowed in his suitcase blustered from the cab. "Quit! or
I'll crack you're addle-pated head for you, you young fool. Do you know
what it will mean if I report you at Annapolis? Well, unless you make
tracks for Bancroft P. D. Q.--that means pretty decidedly quick,
Nelly,--you're going to get all that is comin' to you with compound
interest. Beat it while your shoes are good. We'll escort your girl back
to home and friends. Nelly, get into that cab. Cabby, these are two
school girls and this man is this one's father. Now go about and head
for the home port. No rowing. Yes, you'll get paid all right, all right.
I'll stand for the damage and so will Bolivar here. But are _you_ going
to dust?" the last words were addressed to Paul Ring to whom Helen was
clinging and imploring him not to leave her. But, alas! It was four to
one, for cabby's wrath was now centered upon "that hully show of a
bloomin' auntie."

Amidst violent protests upon Helen's part, Nelly entered the cab. She
would "not go back!" And she would "go with dear Paul!" Her heart was
breaking. Nelly Bolivar was "a good-for-nothing, common tattle-tale and
the whole school probably knew all about her elopement already," etc.,
etc.

Nelly tried to assure her that no one suspected a thing. Mr. Bolivar
corroborated that statement, but Helen continued to sob and berate Nelly
till finally Shelby's deep voice cried:

"Halt, cabby!" Then dismounting he opened the cab door, took Helen by
the arm and shook her soundly, then thundered:

"If you was a boy I'd yank you out o' that cab and whale you well, for
that's what you rate. Since you're a fool-girl I can't. Now stop that
hullabaloo instanter. We'll get you back to the school and nobody'll
know a thing if you keep your senses. Nelly here ain't anxious to have
that school and her friends figurin' in the newspapers. Now you mind
what I'm tellin' you. I've stood for all the nonsense I'm going to, and
I promise to get you home without you're being missed, but if you let
out another peep I'll march you straight to the Admiral's office, and
don't you doubt my word for a single minute." Then Shelby remounted
Shashai, and leading Star, the odd procession started back, Shelby
cudgeling his brain to devise a way of getting the romantic maiden in as
secretly as he had promised. He need not have worried about that. The
inmates of Columbia Heights were meantime having lively experiences of
their own.



CHAPTER XVII

A SEND-OFF WITH FIREWORKS


When Lily Pearl fled from Stella's room leaving the overturned fairy
lamp to bring about the climax of that evening, her one thought was to
get to bed, and hardly had she tumbled into it than sleep brought
oblivion of all else. Lily Pearl was a somnolent soul in many senses.

Mrs. Vincent was busy in her study at the other end of the house. Miss
Sturgis was dining with friends. Fräulein, who was a romantic creature,
was seated under a huge copper beech tree entertaining a Herr Professor
straight from the Vaterland. The other teachers were either out or in
their rooms in other parts of the building, and the servants had drifted
out through the rear grounds. Consequently, the fairy lamp had things
pretty much its own way and it embraced its opportunity.

What prompted Polly to go upstairs just at that crisis she could never
have told, but she did, and a second later Peggy followed her. The
moment the girls reached their corridor the odor of smoke assailed
their nostrils. For an instant they stopped and looked at each other,
then Peggy cried:

"Polly, something's afire. Quick, the bugle call!" Polly bounded forward
and, as upon another occasion back in Montgentian she had roused the
neighborhood and saved the situation, now she sounded her bugle call,
but this time it was "fire call," not "warning." Clear, high and sharp
the notes rang through the house. Mrs. Vincent down in her study sprang
to her feet. The teachers rushed to their posts, the girls ran in from
the terrace. Well for Columbia Heights School that Polly had taught them
the different calls and that she and Peggy had begged Mrs. Vincent to
let the girls learn the fire drill as the boys in Bancroft did it.

Not far off was a fire engine house and the members of the company had
more than once come to see the two girls put their schoolmates through
their drill. It was all a grand frolic then, for none believed it would
ever be put to practical use. But the fire chief had nodded wisely and
said to Mrs. Vincent:

"Those two young girls have long heads. It may all be a pretty show-down
now, but some day you may find it come in handy."

It came in very handy this time. In two minutes an alarm was turned in
and the engines were tearing toward Columbia Heights. The girls had
rushed to their rooms, scrambled what they could into blankets, and ran
downstairs with their burdens. At least many of them had. All the fire
drills in the world will not keep some people's heads upon their
shoulders in a crisis.

Roused from sleep by the bugle, Lily Pearl, uttering shriek upon shriek,
plunged her feet into a pair of pink satin slippers newly bought for
commencement, caught up and pinned upon her head the new hat, of which
Rosalie had said: "Well, of all the lids! Lily, did the milliner put the
trimming on the box and forget to send home the hat?" Then grabbing her
fur coat from the closet she ran screaming down to the lawn, certainly
somewhat promiscuous as to raiment, for her nightie was an airy affair
and she carried her coat over her arm.

But the stately Juno was one of the most amusing objects. She carefully
put on a pair of evening gloves and took a lace pocket handkerchief from
her bureau drawer. That was all she even attempted to save.

It was well for the school that Polly and Peggy had kept their wits. All
were soon out of the building and the firemen battling bravely to
confine the fire to the west wing, but poor Stella's room was surely
doomed, for what smoke and flames might possibly spare water would
certainly ruin.

In the midst of the uproar Shelby, Bolivar, Nelly and Helen came upon
the scene.

"Good Lord Almighty! Look out for the girls, Bolivar. Guess they'll have
no trouble gettin' in unnoticed now," cried Shelby, and sent Shashai
speeding to the stables.

Bolivar paused only long enough to hand cabby a ten-dollar bill and cry:

"Clear out quick and keep your mouth shut too!" Then he hurried the
terrified girls to the lawn where dozens of other girls were huddled,
and nobody asked any questions about the suitcase. Nor did anyone think
to ask how Bolivar and Shelby happened to be there when they were
supposed to be miles away. Many details were quite overlooked that
night, which was a fortunate circumstance for Miss Helen Doolittle, and
her hard-hit midshipman, who had "frenched" out of Bancroft not only
with mamma's knowledge, but with her coöperation. To have formed an
alliance with Foxy Grandpa's niece and clinched that end of the scheme
of things would have been one step in the direction of securing an ample
income, and once that lover's knot was tied, Helen was to be whisked
back to the school and the secret kept. Mamma was at the Willard waiting
for "those darling children" to come, and when, much later than he was
expected, "dear Paul" arrived alone and in a greatly perturbed state of
mind, mother and son had considerable food for thought until the
midnight car carried them back to Annapolis, where Paul "clomb" the wall
at the water's edge and "snoke" into quarters (in Bancroft's vernacular)
in the wee, sma' hours, a weary, disgusted and unamiable youth. Perhaps
had he suspected what was happening back at Columbia Heights his prompt
oblivion in slumber would not have taken place, though Paul was a
philosopher in his way. Helen was with friends and "she'd knock off
crying when she found she had to; all girls did." Selah!

But during all this time things had not been moving so tranquilly at
Columbia Heights. Given over a hundred girls, and a seething furnace of
a building in which the belongings of a good many of them were being
rapidly reduced to ashes, for the whole west wing was certainly doomed,
and one is likely to witness some stirring scenes. The firemen worked
like gnomes in the murk and smoke, and Shelby and Bolivar seemed to be
everywhere, saving everything possible to save, with many willing hands
from the neighborhood to help them. And some funny enough rescues were
made. Sofa pillows were carried tenderly down two flights of stairs and
deposited in places of safety upon the lawn by some conscientious
mortal, while his co-worker heaved valuable cut glass from a third-story
window, or pitched one of the girls' writing desks into the upstretched
arms of a twelve-year-old boy who happened to stand beneath.

Mrs. Vincent was everywhere at once, keeping her girls from harm's way,
and the other teachers kept their heads and coöperated with her. At
least all but one did, and she was the one upon whom Mrs. Vincent would
have counted most surely. When the fire was raging most fiercely Miss
Sturgis returned from her visit and a moment later rushed away from the
group of girls supposed to be under her especial charge, and disappeared
within the house in spite of the firemen's orders that all should stand
clear. The girls screamed and called after her but their voices were
drowned in the uproar, and none knew that the incentive which spurred
the half-frantic woman on was the photograph of the professor with whom
she had gone automobiling the day of the fly-paper episode. Poor Miss
Sturgis. Her first and only hint of a romance came pretty near proving
her last.

Straight to her room in the west wing she rushed, stumbling over hose
lines, battling against the stifling clouds of smoke which rolled down
the corridor. The room was gained, the picture secured, and she turned
to make good her escape, all other valuables forgotten. But even in that
brief moment the smoke had become overpowering. Her room was dense. For
a moment she sought for the door, growing more and more confused and
stifled, then with a despairing moan she fell senseless. Luckily the
flames were eating their relentless way in the other direction, the
firemen fighting them inch by inch until they felt that they were
winning the battle.

Meantime, down upon the lawn, the girls had found Mrs. Vincent and told
her of Miss Sturgis' folly. She was beside herself with alarm. Men were
sent in every direction to find her, but none for a moment suspected her
of the utter fool-hardiness of returning to her own room in the blazing
wing. But there was one person who did think of that possibility and she
quickly imparted her fears to one other.

"She never would," cried Polly.

"She had something there she wanted to save. I don't know what, but she
was so excited that she acted just like a crazy person, wringing her
hands and crying just before she ran back; I saw her go. Wait! Tzaritza,
find Miss Sturgis," said Peggy into the ears of the splendid hound who
had never for a single moment left her side, and who had more than once
caught hold of her skirts to draw her backward when a sudden volume of
smoke or sparks shot upward.

For a moment the noble beast hesitated. Little had Miss Sturgis ever
done to win Tzaritza's love and in her dog mind duty lay here. But the
dear mistress' voice repeated the order and with a low bark of
intelligence Tzaritza tore away into the burning building.

"Oh, call her back! Call her back! She will be burned to death" cried a
dozen voices. Polly dropped upon the lawn and began to sob as though her
heart would break. Peggy never moved, but with hands clinched, lips set
and the look in her eyes of one who has sacrificed something
inexpressibly dear she stood listening and waiting. When she felt most
deeply Peggy became absolutely dumb.

Those minutes seemed like hours, then through an upper window giving on
the piazza roof scrambled a singed, smoke-begrimed, and uncanny figure,
dragging, tugging, and hauling with her a limp, unconscious woman. She
made the sill, hauled her burden over to safety, then lifting it bodily
carried it to the roof's edge, where putting it carefully beyond the
volume of smoke now pouring from the window, she threw up her head and
emitted howl upon howl for aid.

It was Shelby who heard and recognized that deep bay, who rushed with a
ladder to the spot, and scrambling up like a monkey, caught up Miss
Sturgis' seemingly lifeless form and carried her down the ladder, where
a dozen willing hands waited to receive her, while Tzaritza's barks
testified to her joy. Then back Shelby fled for the faithful creature,
but just as he reached the roof a sheet of flame darted out of the
window and enveloped her. In a second the exquisite silky coat was
a-blaze, and poor Tzaritza's joyous barks became cries of agony.

"Quick, somebody down there hand me one of those blankets!" shouted
Shelby.

Ere the words had left his lips a little figure scrambled up the ladder,
a blanket in her arms. Polly had seen all and had not waited for orders.
Gym work back in Annapolis stood in good stead at that moment. Shelby
flung the blanket about Tzaritza's sizzling fur, smothered out the
flame, then by some herculean mustering of strength, caught the huge dog
in his arms and crawled step by step down the ladder from which Polly
had quickly scrambled. A dozen hands lent aid and poor burned Tzaritza
was carried to the stables, Peggy and Polly close beside her. Others
could now care for Miss Sturgis, who, indeed, was little the worse for
her folly, while Tzaritza, the lovely coat quite gone, was moaning from
her burns.

"Hear, Jim, you stay here and don't you leave Miss Peggy or that dog for
a minute. Now mind what I tell you," he ordered.

Peggy knew exactly what to do. It was the Peggy Stewart of Severndale
who worked over the suffering dog, bandaging, bathing, soothing, and
Tzaritza's eyes spoke her gratitude.

Several of the girls ran out to offer help or sympathy, and their tears
testified to their love for Tzaritza.

It was dawn before the excitement subsided, and the firemen had
withdrawn, leaving one on guard against the possibility of a fresh
outbreak. And that west wing and its contents? Well, let us draw a
curtain, heavier even than the smoke which, so lately poured from it.
Some things were saved--yes--but the commencement gowns, essays, and all
which figures in Commencement Day were fluttering about in little black
flakes. There would be no Commencement for Columbia Heights School this
year!

A telephone message brought Mrs. Harold and Mrs. Howland upon the scene
before many hours, as well as a good many other interested parents.
True, a large insurance covered most of the valuables and the building
also, but a house after such a catastrophe is hardly prepared to hold a
function, so it was unanimously agreed that the girls should all go
quietly away as quickly as those whose belongings had been saved could
pack them.

Mrs. Harold and Mrs. Howland remained over night and on the
twenty-fourth instead of the twenty-eighth escorted a nondescript sort
of party up to Severndale, for wearing apparel had to be
indiscriminately borrowed and lent.

Helen's anxious mamma took her to Philadelphia, where June week's joys
were not. Lily Pearl's parents wired her to come home at once, and Lily
departed for the south-land, June week's joys lamented also. Stella's
father came in instant response to her telegram and though the one to
suffer the heaviest losses, made light of them and asked Stella if she
couldn't tear herself from Columbia Heights without such an expensive
celebration.

_Is_-a-bel, who had really lost very little, was inconsolable because
her "essay," to be read at Commencement, had been burned up, and
departed for the Hub, still lugubrious.

Mrs. Vincent asked Shelby to remain a few days longer, which he
willingly did. Bolivar had gone on to look up Junius and his charges as
soon as he could leave the school.

Peggy insisted upon Mrs. Vincent coming to Severndale for the month when
it was finally agreed that the earlier plans should hold, Juno and
Natalie extending their visit. So back went the merry party to Annapolis
to participate in all the delights of June week, and all which can crowd
into it.

So ho! for Severndale! Tzaritza conveyed there an interesting, though
shorn convalescent, the horses seeming to sniff Round Bay from afar,
Polly wild to see her old friends, and Peggy eager to greet those who
were so much a part of her life in her lovely home. And Nelly? Well, no
one has ever learned of her night ride, though Helen's peace of mind is
not quite complete.



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